


The Unsung

by avian_magic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Past Abuse, Slow Romance, Trauma, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13231449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avian_magic/pseuds/avian_magic
Summary: Minerva had been damned from the moment she had been conceived. As the thought crossed her mind, she could almost faintly hear her mother’s voice in the back of her head, scolding her for thinking such things.“Even Andraste had her trials. You are no different. You’ll have your trials, and you will survive. You may not get your own Chant of Light verse, but you will be alive, and you will always be victorious.”And her mother was right, but she wouldn't know it until much later. This is the story of one unsung hero of the Inquisition in particular.





	1. Recollections

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing that I have written in ages, and I am incredibly rusty. However, with the new year rolling in, I figured I might try to brush off the cobwebs and see how it goes by posting something. My goal is to continue posting should my writing garner enough interest. 
> 
> Please refer to the tags on the piece for your warnings. If anything else pops up, I will try and remember to mention any additional triggers beforehand.
> 
> Enjoy, and please do easy on me! (And yes, Cullen will make an appearance soon.)

“Take this,” the woman whispered, offering a vial of viscous, yellow liquid. “It’ll help prevent…”

“I know.” Came her reply, taking the vial and choking it down. Her features twitched at the vile, thick taste of the sap, and she silently handed it back to the woman. She let her head tilt back, and she inhaled deeply, listening to the fire crackling, narrowing her focus onto nothingness. Meanwhile, the woman began to slowly undress her, and tend to her wounds.

Minerva had been damned from the moment she had been conceived. As the thought crossed her mind, she could almost faintly hear her mother’s voice in the back of her head, scolding her for thinking such things. 

_“Even Andraste had her trials. You are no different. You’ll have your trials, and you will survive. You may not get your own Chant of Light verse, but you will be alive, and you will always be victorious.”_

Her mother. How could her mother be such a positive woman? Animosity had no foothold in her mother’s heart in spite of everything that _she_ had endured in her life. She wondered if her mother ever faltered, ever questioned herself even once. Then again, if she did, Minerva had never noticed, and would never know. But right now, with the faint throb of agony present in nearly every part of her body, she had never wanted to ask more than now. 

Minerva was a native of Ferelden, born in the Denerim alienage, a child that should have never been. Her mother had told her honestly when she had been old enough to understand. For years, she had wondered why she looked so different than the other elves around them. She had the body type of her mother – incredibly short and narrow-framed – but she lacked the long, thin, pointed ears that elves had. Her mother had brilliant, forest green eyes and mousy brown hair. Minerva didn’t really share those features with her mother, either. The revelation had perplexed her for years, and while her mother treated her no different, she had always sensed mild resentment in the looks that the others in the alienage gave her.

She had been 14 when she had finally gathered up the courage to ask. Her mother smiled, sat her down on her ragged, pathetic excuse of a bed, and then threaded her fingers through Minerva’s icy blonde locks. Her expression was soft and delicate, but Minerva would never forget the hollow look in her eyes as she explained. It had only been for the briefest of moments, caught the instant before her mother had made her turn away so she could brush the tangles from her daughter’s hair.

_“Your father is a nobleman in this city, and as you could guess, he is a human.” There sat silence between them, only the faintest sound of the brush running through Minerva’s hair. “You have witnessed the cruelty of man to our people, you have heard the stories. I cannot openly say how much of our stories are true, but I can say that there are vile people of all races. So do not take my woes so close to your heart, lest you stain your precious kindness with bitterness.”_

_Minerva didn’t move, biting her lip, worrying the flesh between her teeth. She wouldn’t realize how strong her mother was to have said something until present time._

_“When I was younger, perhaps only four or five years older than you, one of the noblemen came to our alienage. We feared him and his guards, though he assured us many times that he was simply passing through. His eyes were so terrifying, the way that they dug into each and every person that he stared at. It was like he was either flaying you with his eyes, or undressing you down to your skin. One could not tell which._

_“But then, he sauntered over to me, where I had been hanging clothes up to dry. I heard the clank of the metal of the armor that his guards wore. He waved them away. He approached me, wearing only his fancy furs and silks, brazen and knowing that neither I nor anyone else nearby would stop him if he did something. He touched my hair, twisted it around his finger. He said I looked like a ‘little mouse’. And I said nothing._

_“He liked how compliant I was. And when he took me back to his home…where he…well, my dear, I’m sure you can imagine. You have seen this happening in the alienage. Seen the way they drag women off, some screaming, some submitting to their fate. Your father was one of the vile men of this world. Though do not take him as an example. There is kindness here as well. You only need to find it.”_

_“What’s his name, Mother?”_

_Her mother smiled then, placing the brush down. “His identity is unimportant. And his identity holds no bearing over your own. You are Minerva, and that is all that matters…besides, you have a father, unbound by blood, who loves you and loves me more than anything in this world, in spite of everything. He is the one you should admire, the identity that should matter.”_

_“I admire you, Mother…”_

Minerva winced and hissed in pain, shaken from her memory as the healer coated her wound with a numbing salve. She tipped her head back on the fur-covered cot, eyes screwing shut and teeth grinding together. It was burning like a hot coal under her skin, and she felt the invasive crackle of panicked magic dancing up her arms. 

“Pl-Please,” she wheezed. “Something to bite on.” 

“Ah…of course, my dear,” the healer murmured, moving to grab a wooden rod, and then wrapping the entirety of it in thick cloth. Gingery, she placed it between Minerva’s teeth, and returned to work once she was sure she was ready. “Ready?”

Minerva quelled her magic into silence, forcing her mind into quiet. She nodded, and when the sting and pain began again, she went stiff and screamed against the cloth and wooden between her teeth. The sound was muffled, nearly lost against the fabric. She tried to bury herself into her memories again, fight back the pain, remind herself that she had suffered worse than what she was dealing with now. Damaged skin healed. Some wounds didn’t.

_“Shh,” her mother whispered. “It’s okay, my darling…”_

_Minerva clutched her mother, fingers curling in her dress and sobs shaking her body. It had happened again, only this time, she had nearly set fire to everything in the alienage. She had been so scared when she saw the humans coming, dressed in regal furs and earthy-toned silks and leathers. She knew that she had to do something. And when a woman shrieked and scream, she covered her ears in fear. And then everything was on fire._

_“I-I-I tried s-so hard…t-to make it stop…”_

_“And you did, my sweet child,” her mother said, fingers running through her daughter’s long hair. “You didn’t hurt anyone, and you even scared off the nobles.”_

_“B-But now they’ll take me away! To the Circle!”_

_Her mother’s smile widened then, and she pulled the 15 year old girl back to look into her eyes. Her mother’s eyes were striking and beautiful, a vibrant green that it seemed only an elf could possess. “My dear, the Circle is your future…and you should be happy. Happy to have this gift, to learn and read and be safe. The Circle is an escape that you deserve.”_

_Minerva leaned close to her mother, burying her face into her chest. “But what about you?”_

_She noticed her mother’s smile didn’t shake, didn’t fall from her lips. She merely pulled Minerva back again and touched a thin hand to her face. “Don’t you worry for me. I will be okay.”_

Sweat ran down the sides of her face now, and Minerva felt herself growing cold, though it wasn’t an effect of the magic in her blood. She felt faint, lightheaded, and even when she opened her eyes, she could only see white. 

“Hurry! We need another healer! We need more salves! I need the salts! And, Andraste’s breath, _quickly_ will you!” 

“…yes...here are the…”

“…blood...too much…we need more…”

The voices were loud at first, and then softer, softer until it sounded as if Minerva had been submerged underneath the water. She wondered if she were dying, if this would be her last memory, laying on a cot in the middle of a Hinterlands camp, with a healer looming over her, covered in her own blood.

_The Templar’s smile was warm, kind even. Minerva had never seen such kindness in anyone’s gaze upon her. Except from her mother and the man she called father. He was aged, with soft wrinkles at the corners of his gray eyes. Most people would have felt terrified, but Minerva only felt warm and happy._

_Her mother’s hands turned her face back towards her, their eyes meeting. Her mother looked proud and happy, but the tears were enough to tell her that she was pained._

_“Ah! Look at you!” She kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her hair. “Off you go, to start a brilliant new adventure!” She stood upright, and brushed herself off. Her mother was taller than her, though only by a few inches. Minerva stood just under five foot, and her mother stood barely over._

_“M-Mother…pl-please…” Minerva was smiling, but the flush on her face was making it clear that she was embarrassed._

_“Hush. Let a mother spoil her child for just one last time,” she said. “Now then…Ser Templar?”_

_“Yes?” He addressed her with a stiff nod._

_“They are able to write letters and send them out from the Circle, yes?” When he nodded and smiled, she smiled back. “Lovely. Please, please take care of my daughter.”_

_“Of course we will. Now, if there’s nothing else…” He trailed off and gestured over his shoulder to the horses that awaited them. The other Templar stood by them both with his arms crossed, face obscured by the thick helmet._

_“Oh, yes, yes. I apologize. Oh! Just one more thing,” she said, turning her eyes back to Minerva. She reached around her neck, pulling off her necklace she always wore. It was an inexpensive bauble, an old chain with a small little glass pendant on the end, with elven script carved carefully into it. “Wear this always, my dear. Try not to forget your dear old mother, hm?”_

_“I could never…” Minerva stared wide-eyed at the necklace, then immediately put it on, moving to let it slip beneath the neckline of her dress._

_“I love you, Minerva.”_

_“I love you, too…”_

Pulsing in her veins cooled the pain, and Minerva took a gasping breath, waking and seeing through dazed, foggy eyes. She was immediately thrown back into the cruel hands of agony, and she let out a raspy scream of pain. The burning ebbed away into a soft warmth, and then into something chilled and cold, a welcome feeling compared to the pain she had felt so intensely moments before. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she looked around, seeing only the top of the tent pitched above her. There were faces she didn’t recognize, but through the haze of her vision, they all looked relieved.

“Rest,” the woman’s voice from earlier spoke, a blood stained hand settling on her chest, wrapped in tight bandages. “You need it. We will be securing a route for you to Haven, with the rest of the refugees and mages…you will be safe there.”

_“You will be safe there…”_

Minerva relaxed, the echo of her mother’s words ringing clear in her mind. Her eyes fluttered, and then she was greeted by blackness.


	2. Recognition

The healer helped her sit up in her bed, horsehair pillows and thick furs stacked behind her and covering her body. She had been in and out of consciousness for two days now, and she only just now felt well enough to just sit up. She anticipated the healer would need to know her basic information as well, and Minerva was more than willing to provide it to the woman that had saved her life. It was a small price to pay for the exchange of her wellbeing.

Yet she was surprised at the few questions that the healer had to ask.

“What’s your name?” The healer, who Minerva had come to learn in passing of her wavering consciousness was named Keryn. She was a tender, but stern woman, who seemed to hold little regard for one’s race or sex, and only their health. As a healer should. 

“Minerva Valanys.” She fidgeted slightly, averting her gaze from the woman and down to her bandages.

“What a pretty name,” Keryn remarked, scribbling it down on the papers on her desk. She set the quill aside, and then leaned a bit closer towards Minerva. “Though that name is very…”

“Elven?” Minerva prompted.

Keryn’s smile was warm, reaching out and touching her face and turning it delicately to take a look at her ears and – she had no doubt – her ears. “I see…need say no more. I know how these things go. I’ve been more than a simple healer in my years…now tell me, did your eyes change to this current state from an injury, or have they always been this way?”

Ah, there it was.

Minerva’s eyes were always something that people found either mystifying or terrifying, but to her, they were the representation of her mixed blood. They were mismatched; her left one a green that matched her mother’s and her right a blue so stark it looked like conjured ice. Though she was almost certain that it wasn’t her name nor her eyes that gave away the fact that she was elf-blooded. She looked like her elven mother with a tiny frame that didn’t even exceed five feet tall, less dramatic curves than most human women had, and had the telltale facial features most elves had.

“My eyes have always been this way,” she replied after a long silence, having been too preoccupied with her own thoughts to realize Keryn had been patiently waiting the whole time. “It’s not magic…o-or anything.”

Keryn’s expression softened, and Minerva made a point of avoiding eye contact. She didn’t need to have this woman staring at her and feeling pity for her. It was unnecessary, and frankly, it made Minerva far more uncomfortable than she cared to admit. Perhaps she wasn’t used to it and the woman was simply trying to offer unspoken support, but to her it was a painful reminder that _something_ had happened to her. As the thought crossed her mind, the elf-blooded woman went stiff and felt her body start to go tense.

Sensing the change in the air and having absolutely _no_ desire to provoke Minerva’s accidental wrath, the middle-aged woman leaned back and sighed heavily. Her lips twitched at the edges as she swiped a vial from the nearby desk and offered it wordlessly to her. With great disdain, she took it between her bandaged, damaged hands and brought it to her lips. The overwhelming, pungent, and very unpleasant taste of the sap stuck to her tongue and made her nearly begin to vomit, but Minerva forced herself to keep it down.

“Thank you,” Minerva mumbled through her grimace, fingers now plucking restlessly at the strands of the fur blanket. “For…”

“No need, dear. Now, that was your last dose of that, you should be good in way of…” She trailed off, ceasing her sentence from continuing for Minerva’s sake. Of which she was incredibly thankful for if anyone would have asked her. “Now, I have made you some tea from spindleweed and elfroot, which should speed up the healing process for some of your wounds. If you’re lucky, you should be back on your feet by the end of the week…”

She found little cause to object, and simply took the strong smelling liquid without hesitation. Any trepidation that she had felt around the woman was immediately washed away at a sudden realization, a revelation that made her insides stir with emotions that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Keryn was displaying a degree of acceptance and care that Minerva had encountered little. Even in the Ferelden Circle she was ostracized for her strange appearance. Before she would allow the rush of emotions come pouring out, however, she quickly silenced herself with the tea. With the limited mobility she had in her hands and arms, she graciously accepted the help that Keryn offered her.

* * *

Much to Minerva’s pleasure, she was in fact up and about by the end of the week. Her strides her slow and labored, and she used a wooden staff as a walking stick to aide her in her movements. Casting spells was still far beyond her in her state, but she was able to at least get out of bed and move around. She had also managed to assist Keryn with more menial tasks from her bed, and even assisted with mixing the most basic of potions and poultices. It was as if she was regaining herself again, having been well aware that a small piece of her had been taken that day in the Hinterlands.

Today, she had stepped out of the small wooden building to finally take in the sight that was Haven. For the first time, she noticed that the clinic was a lone building, nestled into the corner just to the right of the massive set of stairs that led the middle tier of Haven. Minerva squinted in the morning sun, watching curiously as people moved around their business. People were coming out of the tents just in front of the clinic and the stairs, and as she narrowed her gaze at the building straight ahead, she noticed people already filing into the tavern.

The air was cold, and she wondered how she had remained asleep in the frigid cold as they had brought her here from the Hinterlands. She only remembered bits and pieces of the trip, most of it was spent in blinding , hot white pain and screaming. Minerva clutched onto her staff a little tighter, leaning on it for support as she peered over her shoulder towards the clinic. Keryn and the other healers around Haven must have put in a great deal of effort saving her and the other refugees. 

A smile worked its way onto her face, and she ignored the biting chill as she pressed forward with fierce determination to simply be _moving_ again. The pain throbbed through her entire body, but the cold chill of Haven seemed to help. It made her movements a bit stiff, but the searing, hot pain underneath her skin seemed to taper off to a dull simmer. After the weeks of pain she had endured, hardly awake to the world, she would take it. 

Minerva edged herself down the steps, one by one, eyes boring a hole into wherever her feet fell, ever alert so she would not trip over her woolen dress. The material was obviously too big on her, and it wasn’t meant to constrict her in any way or else she’d be bleeding through it with all the bandages she wore beneath it. Step after agonizing step, she finally made it to the bottom, daring to hobble even further towards the thick, open doors that showed her a brief glimpse of Haven beyond the wall.

A trip that should have taken her less than five minutes had taken her 20, but she felt pride in herself as she moved beyond the doors. Above, the crackling green of the Breach still loomed, throwing a putrid glow across the once untainted skies of Thedas. Were it not the source of everything going wrong in the world, she could almost consider it pretty, though Minerva was intelligent enough to keep that bit of information to herself. She had heard the Herald of Andraste had gotten it to stop growing, and that the Inquisition’s new goal was to seal it completely. The task seemed impossible, but the Inquisition was doing great things, and she owed some of its people her life. She had found she had little faith left to give in the world since the Blight, but now…she had risked her life traversing through the Hinterlands to find them. 

Instead, they found her. If that wasn’t some kind of divine providence, then she wasn’t sure what was. Well, aside from being tossed out of the Fade by Andraste, of course.

A sound of clattering and metal hitting the ground jarred Minerva from her thoughts. She leaned heavily on her staff, mismatched gaze shifting towards the cluster of tents and training dummies that the soldiers had obviously claimed as their own. She tilted her head, observing in silence as a hush fell over the gathered crowd of soldiers. 

“Maker’s breath, you call that a _block_? You _wield_ a shield, not cower behind one!” The voice rumbled loudly, and it demanded attention so sharply that Minerva went stiff. Standing out from the group of Inquisition soldiers was a tall man with strawberry blonde hair, tossing a shield to the ground where a soldier laid flat on his back. “Keep doing the drills. If we are to face demons and mages, you need to learn to deflect their attacks.”

As he turned, into a view where Minerva could make out his face, even from this distance, she froze. She recognized the voice more than the face, though she had never expected to see that face again. He had matured, had scars that made him look older, and he actually had a hint of facial hair. The most stunning difference was the fact that his hair had gone from red to where it was now – likely from a combination of age, stress, and sun exposure if she had to guess. She had only known him through passing, and she had only been at the Circle roughly a year or so before he was transferred after the Blight.

Though if she were being completely honest, he had been her first crush. An innocent, shy sort of adoration that had no chance of being reciprocated. There had been only a single instance in which they had spoken more than several sentences between them, and Minerva highly doubted that recognition would come to him now. He was five years her senior, 20 to her 15 ten years ago, and she had arrived at the Circle only a few months prior. Aside from her mentors, she had little interaction with anyone. She was teased relentlessly for her eyes, for her icy-blonde hair, and her skin so pale she practically glowed. 

A group of apprentices had walked by one evening, and one had made a point of slamming into her and then dashing off in a fit of giggling before she could object – not that she had any voice to bother to try. Her books and papers had poured to the floor, and she recalled not even feeling upset by the abuse. She had crouched down to collect her things, but then a large hand held out a book to her, and she raised her gaze upwards. He stammered some words at her, offered her a hand in getting up, and she fumbled out an even more awkward thank you.

For the next year, she had found herself watching him from afar, averting her gaze when his turned towards hers. The brief moments she passed him in the circular halls had turned into the opposite of a staring contest and a never-ending mental war within herself to try and avoid looking at him. Her old mentor, Wynne, had caught the sight on more than one occasion, and she had teased Minerva relentlessly, though never in a manner that made the elf-blooded woman feel worse and more insecure. 

It had actually lulled her into a strange sense of security in the older woman’s acceptance. She trusted Wynne, admired her and looked up to her. She was one of the only people she had to talk to, especially about…

“Commander Cullen, ser!” 

The voice pierced her thoughts, and Minerva felt a flustered blush begin to work its way across her neck and towards her face. Had she really been mindlessly staring for so long? Oh sweet Andraste, she hoped that no one had seen her doing that.

Clearing her throat, she quickly – well, as quickly as her battered form would allow her – shuffled up the steps of Haven and made her way back to the clinic. Keryn assisted her into bed and into a change of clothes, but only after berating her for roughly an hour or so for having pushed herself too far too soon. Minerva just swallowed her smile and bowed her head, letting the older woman nag her. It felt good to have someone fuss over her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I keep mentally telling myself I'm going to make these short, and then I end up typing a minimum of 1,500 words...one day I'll write something that doesn't take an eternity to read. Unless you don't mind, of course.
> 
> That being said, I feel like I'm slowly shaking off the cobwebs. Successfully. 
> 
> We'll see how long it last. But for now, I hope you enjoyed it, and I look forward to writing and posting more! :)
> 
> (And more Cullen next time, for real. This story has a slow roll, but I swear it'll be like a tiny snowball rolling down a mountainside!)


	3. Wreathed in Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some heavy reference to what happened to Minerva in this one. Readers beware.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Keryn asked, startling Minerva from her own thoughts once again. The older woman was inspecting the stitching of her largest wound across her ribcage.

The question surprised Minerva. She had been in this clinic for going on two weeks now, and never once had Keryn inquired about her lack of friendly conversation. Perhaps she was finally growing fed up with the constant silences and vacant stares that Minerva’s eyes offered whenever she was talking about something.

“Not…not really,” Minerva muttered, a sick sense of shame creeping up her neck. What if Keryn thought she was just being ungrateful for her care? “I just…” She trailed off. What excuse did she have beyond the fact that she just _didn’t_ talk much?

“Too busy stuck in that head o’ yours, if you ask me,” Keryn mumbled, carefully wiping down across her ribcage with a damp cloth. It reeked of poultices and ointment, and while Minerva was certain the risk for infection had all but passed, she had to appreciate the old healer’s attitude on making sure it _stayed_ aren’t so good…”

Minerva snapped her eyes away from her, knowing what she was referring to. She couldn’t stop herself from tugging at the bandages around her hands, in spite of the knowledge that Keryn would fuss with genuine agitation at her to stop. 

“I-I just…”

Keryn’s gaze silenced her almost immediately, a look that Minerva couldn’t really read. It terrified her, and she made every effort to suddenly find interest in anything but the old healer’s face. She could hear her sigh, and caught a glimpse of her sweeping a calloused hand through her short-cropped gray hair. Her gray eyes dug deep into Minerva so intently that she didn’t even need to raise her gaze to feel it. She couldn’t discern whether it was judgment or, but whatever it was, Minerva found herself wanting none of it. It made her feel weak, and the sensation she got in her stomach and chest and head made her start to feel like she was trying to swim, and was failing at it.

“Continue…” The tone struck a chord in her, and when she let her mismatched eyes meet Keryn’s, she found nothing but concern. Minerva used to think that pity, sympathy, and concern were all the same, but she had quickly stumbled upon the realization that they weren’t. Similar, but not the same, a fine line to cross. Unsure what it was in the healer’s gaze, Minerva felt her mental walls crumble, and her muscles began to shudder almost violently as emotion shook her so deeply it made her inside ache. In desperation to control herself, Minerva clenched her hands into tight fists in spite of the tearing pain she felt explode through her palms and fingers. Blood prickled at the dry white linen, yet Keryn made no motion to touch her.

The physical pain could never compare to the way she felt inside, so vulnerable, like someone had just gutted her and filled her still-living corpse with searing coals and jagged debris. Her insides screamed like metal on metal, a sound in her head that was accompanied by the flash of fire and screaming and smoke and blood. So much blood.

Her exterior collapsed, and Minerva felt her face twist and contort, and she let out a strangled cry. The tears stung the nicks and cuts on her face, it burned even more inside. Finally, she felt Keryn’s warmth, her strong arms so careful and alert with where they were placed around her. The dam that Minerva had meticulously built to keep the memories and pain at bay had shattered. She had thought it strong, but with just some tender prodding from the healer she had learned she had made it from mud and water. And the emotions that it held back were like fire and ice, ripping through her bloodstream and forcing out another cry, pained and agonized. Without realizing it, her arms latched around Keryn, like a weeping child would to a mother, fitfully begging through broken sobs to make the pain of a skinned knee disappear.

Keryn seemed to understand, and merely stood with her arms around her. “I was more than a simple healer in my days, dear...” The soft reminder made Minerva only clasp onto her harder, suddenly understanding that Keryn knew the pain, and seen other women deal with it, had helped them in similar ways. But Minerva could hardly form a coherent thought with the flashes and sounds and feelings forming a raging torrent in her mind and soul. 

“I…I…”

“Tell me what happened…” Keryn’s words were not demand – they were far too tender, far too careful to imply such a thing. The tone was inviting, encouraging. 

Minerva squeezed her eyes shut tighter and tighter…opened her mouth, and…

_The screams were so loud, so shrill and terrified. She was so young, so small, so fragile. And they were letting her suffer and die. She didn’t even realize she was walking closer, mind throwing alarms in her head. Part of her was well-aware of the danger, and another didn’t care. After the Blight and what she had endured, she promised to never stand back while someone else suffered._

_How she had cried when Wynne nearly drained herself beyond death protecting them. How she had cowered when she watched abomination after abomination rip through the apprentices with their claws and vicious, mutilated bodies. The rogue Templars were no better. They soiled the good name of Templars everywhere. They served, protected – she had seen them die and bleed to strike down mages that they had gotten to know over the course of their lives. The Circle told them to not communicate, to never talk to one another, but time broke boundaries. She may not have had friends, but she had devoted her life to magic after that, to the Circle fully in the recognition of why they existed._

_“What’s this?” One of the Templars acknowledged her as she stepped closer, and the screams from the girl stopped, ceased, replaced by weak sobs and cries. “Come to join the fun, little mage?”_

_Minerva felt ten years of repressed hatred for disgusting people surface like bile in her throat. She raised her chin in defiance, her lips drawn tight. Her gaze was molten fire, burning them and searing them with a protective hatred that had begged to come out since the Ferelden Circle, since the Blight._

_“Release the girl,” she spoke in a voice not her own. It had come from deep within, strong and tired – strong for the suffering she had already survived, tired of the pitiful nature of man, mage or Templar alike. “She has done nothing to you, yet you torture her like an animal.”_

_“Oh,” a second Templar coughed out a laugh, stepping away from the girl, who had curled up on the ground in a pitiful ball of terror. The Templar stalked closer, not even donning his helmet. There were three in total, and like prowling animals, they circled Minerva, their attention now completely pried from the young apprentice trembling in a heap not ten feet away. “And are you gonna stop us?”_

_Predators smell fear. They’re like demons. Do not waver. Or they will destroy you._

_“I will,” Minerva confirmed, flicking her gaze as she felt a tug at her hair. Closer and closer, she could feel the nausea setting in from the claustrophobia she felt. It was suffocating, but she forced herself to breathe. “Leave her.”_

_“Tell you what, little mage,” the largest said with a drawl, unthreatened and clearly drunk on power and bloodlust, “we’ll take you over the girl. A fair trade…”_

_There was no beat of hesitation, not even a second. “Then leave her.”_

_She could hear the smirks more than see them, she kept her eyes forward, calmly looking down to the girl who had gotten to her feet. She looked terrified, but with that girl’s big brown eyes, there was a shred of gratitude and relief. A flicker of a smile crossed her features as she gave the slightest of nods towards the girl. To their credit, the Templars let her leave, if only because they had a bigger toy to play with, one not as noisy and more compliant._

_And then she felt the force of their lyrium-infused power and she buckled to the ground, inhaling deeply. She could give them no pleasure in her screams. She bit her tongue, hard, and she could feel the faintest trickle of blood down her mouth. In her pain-filled eyes, she could see the girl hiding, too scared to flee entirely, or perhaps too worried to leave Minerva to suffer her fate alone. A rage boiled inside of her, so strong that she hardly felt the way their blades sliced into her skin, tearing the clothes and flesh from her body alike._

_She grunt in agony as a boot stomped onto her chest, and the breath left her. She felt another kick her over, onto her stomach, and a blade was at her throat, daring her to move. Her hands grasped at the blade, and she felt it cut into her palms, into her fingers, and soon his sword was slick with her blood. Hands and grabbing and laughter. They were striping her of her strength first, break her down so she would be too weak to much else other than lay there and let them do what they wanted. And it was working. For only a moment._

_“Not a single fuckin’ noise? The sodding bitch is taunting us.”_

_Minerva felt them wrench her legs apart, and she stared mindlessly into the sky. Let them think she had submitted. Two held her down, crushing her flat onto her back. She felt the rough grasping at her smallclothes, the disgusting chill of a gloved hand clenching her thigh so tight that the pale flesh began to erupt into an array of blue and purple fingers. They were too caught up in their game with her to realize what she was doing. She felt agony and pain inside, but it didn’t last long._

_“Though the fire enveloped her like a shroud, and the heat from the blaze reached across the field, Andraste was silent and did not cry out…”_

_“The bleedin’ hell is she on about?”_

_Minerva trembled, drawing to her hand and through her veins all she had. “And the legionnaries who stood guard nearby were shaken, and began to whisper among themselves: ‘Is she truly the servant of a god?’” And suddenly, fire erupted suddenly from her palms, licking up and around her and throwing itself out and engulfing not only her, but the Templars. She heard their frenzied screams, their frantic, gurgling chokes as they tried to breathe in anything but the flames into their lungs. But they had been hubris, and underestimated the power within someone who would not break so easily. She had redeemed herself, after all of these years of questioning her strength and purpose in life, she had found it. Even if it were to save but one small girl in a sea of fire and blood and suffering, she was content._

_Blood gushed openly from her wounds, and the smell of charred, burnt flesh made her want to throw up. They had beaten her, one had…_

_“The Archon looked upon what he had wrought,” she wheezed, letting her head loll to one side, the flames gone from her hands, but dancing around her in the dirt. “As the flames of Andraste’s prye grew ever closer to heaven and the heat drove even the bravest of his legion back…”_

_So much blood. She felt it everywhere. Her clothes were damp, and she could feel something inside quiver in her chest, like water rumbling inside. It was blood, escaping internally, and she coughed and felt it pass her lips._

_“And his heart wavered…”_

_And then she saw the girl, wide-eyed and staring, creep closer. She touched Minerva, and she smiled weakly up at the girl. It was a silent thank you, a look that she was happy would surely be her last sight. The sound of horses, of shouts muffled from the way Minerva fell into nothingness. But she could hear the little voice, the girl crying and screaming for help. And then the horses got closer, soldiers on dirt and wagon wheels crunching the debris._

_“For though Andraste did not cry out, yet did he see her suffering…” The girl’s lips were right at her ear, and Minerva felt herself slip away. Had it been a mercy, having her die so suddenly from the wounds that striped her of her strength before her dignity?_

The mercy had not been a swift sword. It had been the Inquisition. The mercy had been living.

“There we go…breathe…” Keryn offered her a cup of tea, which Minerva drank from greedily. “You are something truly special, my dear…I hope you know that. Do not let anyone ever tell you different.”

A faint sound made both women go stiff a bit, and Keryn turned sharply on who had just stepped through the door and cleared this throat. Her eyes narrowed at the Commander, who seemed eager to be anywhere but where he was currently standing right now. Minerva, in spite of herself, had to stifle a giggle, but promptly remembered she was an absolute disaster, and turned away and busied herself with her cup of tea. _Ohhh, you can really smell the embrium…and, uh…oh…see it, too…Does Keryn know not to stuff the whole flower into the pot?_

“Commander, haven’t you learned to knock? Come back and make demands later! I’m,” Minerva could feel the eyes shooting towards her then back, “re-bandaging this woman’s wounds! Maybe I should invite myself on into your bloody tent an’ not make my sodding presence known, either! Wouldn’t be so great having someone starin’ at your half-naked-”

Minerva could hear Cullen clear his throat awkwardly. “Maker’s breath, I didn’t _mean_ to disturb, Keryn, I only meant-”

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, you _didn’t!_ You did exactly that! Now out with you! Unless you’d rather make your arse plenty comfy on one of my chairs while I undress this-”

“Oh for the love of…no! Fine! I’ll excuse myself!” 

The door slammed, and Keryn sighed heavily.

_I am almost certain now that Keryn does not know that the entire flower doesn’t need to be tossed in here. Maybe I should just teach her how to strain things better…_

“Well, then…now that _that_ is over I…Minerva…you look flushed.”

_About as red as this flower in my drink,_ she thought stiffly, looking at Keryn wide-eyed. Keryn immediately understood, and waved a hand in dismissal.

“Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure that stiff man didn’t hear anything. And if he did…well, he knows better…”

That did not quell Minerva’s fears. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Know how I was like, "I'll post something shorter"? Yeah, I lied, apparently. But the angst is out of the way for now, so now we can hopefully dive into the fun.
> 
> Also, woo for two chapters in one day? I'm a BEAST!!! For those of you reading, thanks for sticking with me. 
> 
> By the way, would anyone be opposed to smut in future chapters? I can't say I'm GREAT at it, but I'd like to try.


	4. He Remembers

Minerva flexed her fingers and hands, looking them over for the first time in weeks. They were stiff and clumsy, but she could grab things and hold onto them well enough. She was glad to have them unwrapped and was even happier when the thick stitches had been removed from her tender palms. They would scar, like nearly everything else on her body, but she would take small victories. Keryn called them battle scars to be proud of. A battle wasn’t always fought on a field, sometimes it was inside, and the healer liked to repeatedly remind Minerva that she would win. That she _had_ won. The woman reminded her so much of her mother sometimes.

The feel of the snow between her fingers brought her from her scattered thoughts, and she let out a heavy sigh of pleasure. Cupping her small hands, she scooped up the snow and savored the comfortable chill against the still lingering burn in her skin. Then, having taken a moment to enjoy it, she carefully dropped the snow into a glass jar. One scoop after another, she plopped the snow into the jar, until it was packed full to the brim. 

She was struggling to replace the lid when heavy footfalls came from behind, and made her practically leap from her skin. She fumbled with the lid in her stiff, damaged, and now very cold, hands, and it clattered noisily against the top of the ice. Inwardly cursing herself, she dared to peek over her shoulder towards the sound, and nearly choked on her own muffled gasp.

“I seem to have a penchant for startling you,” Cullen said, keeping his tone light as he moved beside her. His massive body loomed above her, and for a minute, a flash of fire and smoke and burned flesh scorched her mind, and she went stiff. Reminding herself firmly that Cullen was an honorable man, she relaxed when he grabbed the lid from the ice, then screwed it onto the top of the jar with ease. “That being said, I,uh…would like to…apologize.”

It had been two weeks since Cullen had stepped into Keryn’s clinic, and she hadn’t so much as seen him step within 20 feet of the place since. He had even sent foot soldiers to provide Keryn with the updated lists of new recruits and when he expected their physical inspections to be completed by. Keryn’s scowl at the messenger, to say the least, had very likely carried over when he had returned to Cullen. For the past two weeks, it had been a constant unspoken battle, and usually Keryn’s stern, terrifying gray eyes came out triumphant. More than three soldiers had refused to return, from not only the glare they received, but the barking lecture that the healer assaulted them with.

_Wait, what did he say?_

Minerva’s expression mirrored her thoughts. Or, well, they must have, because Cullen rubbed at his neck and looked away from her. 

“I…” He cleared his throat. “This sounded much better in my head, I promise you…” 

Minerva once again blinked up at him, then was suddenly struck with the realization that she was still kneeling in the snow, looking up at him with her neck craned painfully upwards. Before she could cause herself any pain, Cullen tenderly assisted her to her feet, his hands knowing to avoid her forearms and instead touching her elbows. He must have at least seen how battered she was when he came into the clinic that day.

“I’m sorry. I don’t really…know for what.” Minerva bit her bottom lip, daring to look up at him. There was an awkward silence between them, and he coughed into his hand. The melting snow soaking into her leather pants gave her the perfect excuse to pull her eyes away from him to brush herself off. The thick, dark leather had fur lining, and did wonders for keeping the chill from her bones. The many layers of leather, wool, and fur on top acted as a fantastic barrier against the cold.

“For…well, for one, constantly seeming to terrify you,” Cullen finally answered. “And second, for having…invaded…your privacy in the clinic. I was under the impression that Healer Keryn had discharged you, and I had no idea your wounds were so…”

“N-Numerous?” She hunched down and picked up the jar, cradling it to her chest. Cullen could easily pick up the jar in a single hand, yet it took both of hers. At least Keryn didn’t expect her to haul multiple things around at once to and from the clinic. 

“Grievous.” He corrected, letting his amber eyes meet hers. For once, she decided to hold his gaze, ignoring the way the heat crept up her neck and across her face. “If I am being…completely honest, I’ve been meaning to check on you since you, uh…arrived here at Haven.”

“Wh-What?” _Yeah, what? Why? Oh no, please don’t tell me that he remembers me being thoroughly embarrassed non-stop in front of him in the Circle. Like the time I had failed to learn how to control my fire and had burned my eyebrows off, or when I tripped in front of him carrying all of my books, and they had hit his breastplate and made such a loud ringing sound he-_

“I heard word of your arrival weeks ago in Haven. I watched them bring you in,” he paused and reached into the cloak hanging from his mantle, rifling through it until he pulled something that had been tucked from his belt, out of side beneath the fabric. “There was a small girl with you. She couldn’t have been older than ten. She requested that someone give this to you…I don’t know how I ended up with the task, but…”

His words sobered her thoughts and she looked at him, as if questioning if it were okay to take it from him. To reassure her, he glanced down at the folded paper, and then back at her face. She noted the way he had a scar above his lip now, and how much more mature his features had become. Done with her examinations – more like forcing herself to _stop_ , really – she grabbed the letter with trepidation. 

“So she’s okay?” Minerva asked, toying with the paper in her hands. She wasn’t sure what Cullen had been told, or what he had heard, but she didn’t want to relive those crushing, smothering feelings of guilt and disgust and overwhelming self-pity she had with Keryn.

“She is,” Cullen stated, tone far more tender than she imagined him ever capable of managing. Awe filled her when he gave her the softest of smiles, his eyes glowing with something that Minerva couldn’t quite make sense of or put a name to. “She assured us it was because of you.”

Minerva bit down harder on her lip, but caught herself before looking over the letter. “Where…wh-where is she now?”

“She’s with the other refugees, you don’t need to worry about that. And I understand she’s a mage, but we have some mages here as well who have situated themselves in their own camp outside of Haven. She is in good hands.”

“Thank Andraste…” She cleared her throat after her sigh, adjusting the massive jar in her arms to stuff the letter into the thick, fur-lined belt she wore. “A-Ah, excuse me, Commander…I’m going to…go read this in peace…” Minerva was also thankful for the excuse to get away from him. He wasn’t intimidating, but being around him _did_ seem to remind her of all of her failures as an apprentice. Which lead her only to question why he seemed to make the pain inside stop.

As she stepped around him, he suddenly caught her arm. “Ah…uh…” He coughed as he released her almost as quickly as he had snagged her, and she squirmed under his gaze. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad to see you are well.”

Touched by his concern – for whatever unexplainable reason he had for _being_ concerned in the first place – she managed a small smile at him, letting her eyes meet with his once more.

“…and that your eyebrows grew back.”

“E-Erk!” Minerva paled.

Cullen cracked his own smile, but Minerva didn’t miss the glimpse of something sad that flashed across his molten gaze. She wondered why, but then he went on, “It’s been a long time since I’ve…ah. Forgive me, I doubt you wish to stand in this snow any further. I’ll let you carry on with what you were doing.”

“G-G-G…G-Good…uh…er…bye.” Minerva managed to squeak out the last word before hobbling away as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to tear open her stitches, but right now, that felt like a good alternative option to the barely contained internal screaming at the _one_ thing Cullen apparently remembered about her.

_Smooth as silk? More like smooth as jagged glass. Now he remembers you being awkward, and you’ve lived up to it._ She swallowed, burying her face against the lid of the glass jar, but as soon as she stepped into the warm clinic, she leaned against the door and hid her smile. _But he remembers me. Me as me, and not as what I’ve endured…he didn’t look at me with pity…_

She couldn’t describe how good it felt to have met someone who knew her before…before everything, even the Blight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, more Cullen! I told you this was a slow roll.
> 
> And ALSO: A SHORTER CHAPTER. I didn't think myself capable of such a feat. Yet, here we are. I hope you enjoyed it! I have plenty of ideas in store, and definitely intend on bringing in the rest of the party as well some point soon.


	5. Passion

How was it possible to feel so conflicted with oneself? When she had woken the next morning, she had felt disgusted with herself, distrustful and drowning in feelings of betrayal at having suffered at the hands of man the same way her mother had. Though this felt even more vile, even more treacherous and disturbing. Those people were meant to be her protectors, but they had not been the same kind-eyed Templars like the one that had cheerfully chatted with her and soothed her nerves when she was first brought to the Circle. No. They had been monsters in plate metal, and while they donned the vestments of the Chantry, they had dishonored them and all things the faith was supposed to stand for. And she had willingly thrown herself into the maw of something that, in her eyes in this moment, was far worse than the threat of any demon.

Their own prophet, burned to death and betrayed, sacrificed due to hubris and a hunger for power. The abuse of power, the pride that came with it, it had led to the constant reminders that swallowed Thedas repeatedly – the Blight. Had no one ever truly listened to the Chant of Light? Did no one know the stories? Or were they deaf to the words, but not the pretty voices that sang them?

Yet all of that betrayal she felt in her soul from the Templars derision towards mages, all of the strong feelings of self-contempt, and all of her guilt melted away. It melted away when the child’s arms wrapped around her, and she looked up with eyes that were only filled with gratitude. Amie, as Minerva had learned her to be called, had been the small girl that she had saved. Thankfully, the Templars that had been torturing had dignity enough to not violate the child in the same manner they had her. Though that thought didn’t quell the sudden flare of disgust and rage she felt burning inside, Amie’s sweet voice did. It was then, looking at her smiling face devoid of the bruises that had healed in the past weeks, that Minerva mournfully yet proudly felt the whispers of unrepentant joy – and more whispers that told her should would gladly sacrifice herself once more for the sake of this child or any. 

She would gladly burn so that this child would not. Minerva let the child squeeze her, even though it made her stitches strain and her muscles ache.

_Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice…_ The verse came easily in her head. Minerva had little faith in the Chantry after hearing what had begun to transpire in the world, but she had faith in _her_ faith, and that’s what mattered. And she knew that no one could take that away.

“Thank you,” Amie whispered sweetly, burying her face into the thick furs that donned her body. “The people here are nice. They’re teaching me, too.” 

“Are they?” Minerva asked, raising her eyes towards the ragtag group of mages that had formed their own camp outside of Haven. There were several massive tents, and tables piled high with books that were no doubt salvaged from the chaos. She was thankful they had managed to save many things. Including people. But the condition of the camp was…less than ideal. “Well, you just keep practicing, okay? If you need me, you shall know where to find me.”

“Ah, my lady,” an older man called, making Minerva pause. She raised her eyebrows, blinking down at the wrinkled elven mage with curiosity. “Amie told us what you did…what they did. If it please you, I would be more than happy to touch your wounds with some magic to help them heal a bit faster.”

Shocked by the offer, Minerva swallowed and bit her bottom lip. “I would…like that. Please. I’m still too weak to really do much with my own magic…”

“Of course, of course. Come, come…take a seat in this tent here. I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat, looking around. “Allow me to fetch Samara and _she_ will mend your flesh.” The old man scuttled off, and Amie continued to hover around Minerva, the two carrying on idle conversation about the girl’s studies and how she was enjoying her practices.

Samara, when she approached was unlike anyone she had ever seen before. She was swimming in black, silk fabric, perhaps more than was necessary, and had a high collar that made her neck look impossibly long. A line of metal buttons began at her throat, and trailed all the way down the front of her spilling robes. Her flawless, ebony skin was etched with white tattoos in swirling patterns and spots, and when she reached for Minerva, shaking the cloak away from her arms, she noticed that the tattoos appeared on her fingers and disappeared beneath the length of her sleeves. But what was most stunning about her were the ram-like, spiraling horns that jut from her hairline, reaching for the sky. Her eyes were gray, and the white braids that were adorned with silver ornaments tumbled over her shoulders to emit a gentle chiming.

She was a Qunari and she was beautiful. 

“Do lean back, my dear,” she instructed. “Amie, my sweet bird, would you be so kind as to close the flap of the tent? I would be loathe to allow anyone to violate this woman’s privacy…”

Her voice was a song that never ended, far more flowing and intoxicating than anything she had ever heard. The fluttering of fabric and then a sudden flicker of blue and white yanked her back into reality. Samara was flexing her fingers, testing her magic for a moment of quick warm-up before assisting Minerva to lay back and raise her top to reveal the sewn shut wound. It was coming along well for the past weeks, but the dried blood indicated that it would be a while yet until it would be fully healed. Yet Minerva was far too tangled up in staring at Samara with utter fascination. Yet why did she not sound like a Qunari, or act like a follower of the Qun?

Seemingly reading her thoughts, Samara spoke as she went to work on the wound, “My parents left the Qun long ago. Love is not a common emotion, but my parents held onto theirs. Their resolves to leave, to avoid the animalistic breeding of the Qun’s members, was only strengthened when I came into being, wielding fire and lightning in either hand.” Her accent was clearly Orlesian, though. But she seemed to have an answer for that, without even once raising her gaze. “They fled to Orlais. They became mercenaries. And I was trained in the Ghislain Circle in Orlais. And when they sensed things turning for the worse, they pulled a few strings. And then chaos came and here I am…there we go, that wasn’t so terrible, now was it, my dear?”

Minerva sat up and ran her fingers over the tender wound that ran from her right ribs in a jagged diagonal across her body before it ended abruptly at her left hip. It was still sore, but Samara had forced the flesh to knit together a bit more firmly. She sighed appreciatively as she stretched and twisted a bit. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled finally, allowing the massive Qunari woman to assist her to her feet. “Ah, s-sorry…I never introduced myself. My name is Minerva Valanys.”

Samara grinned, but it wasn’t one that made her uncomfortable. “Well, Lady Valanys, it was a pleasure. Though I would recommend I not see you again so soon under similar circumstances, hm? Now, off with you. I’m sure you’ve more to do than bumble around this heap of canvas on sticks that we call a camp. Should you need my aid again, you only need ask.”

* * *

“For the _last_ time, keep your shield _up_. Learn to use it or-” There was an explosive clattering of metal upon metal and then snow was thrown into a cloud around boots that stuck straight towards the sky. They lingered there a second, and then followed the rest of the body into the snow with a thud. Cullen threw the practice blade into the snow to the side, and grabbed the soldier by his clothes being hoisting him to his feet again. “Or you’ll find yourself making the ground’s acquaintance.” 

Minerva watched from the path, wide-eyed from the display of raw power and battle expertise. The Commander was impressive beyond words, but also terrifyingly strong. And it seemed that he was aware of it. He was shaking the snow from his fur mantle when their eyes met, and he raised an eyebrow at her, a silent question. She didn’t move, too hesitant to place herself in the midst of that many men and woman with blades, shields, and other weapons. There were some Templars in the mix, and in spite of her constantly reminding herself of her mother’s words to not allow a single rotten apple to spoil the bunch, she couldn’t help but feel stiff apprehension freeze her legs to where she stood.

“How fairs the child?” Cullen’s voice broke her petrified terror. Swallowing, she ripped her gaze from the group of soldiers before she drowned too deeply in her slowly rising fear. Sensing her discomfort, the Commander shifted himself almost entirely to block them from her field of vision. 

“Sh-She is,” Minerva drew in a breath to calm herself, “she is fine. Excitable, even. She seems entirely devoted to learning now.”

“I am glad to hear. And the…rest of the camp?” He asked the question while already letting his eyes drift from Minerva. There was a heavy silence that hung between them. “I did not mean for that to imply I distrusted the mages. I simply meant…there were many there also hurt.” His correction shocked her, and Minerva didn’t bother to hide it from her face. She quickly forced it down when she noticed the shameful look brisk over the Commander’s features.

“S-Sorry,” she muttered. “It seems I assumed and…sorry. They’re…well. Anxious with Templars _still_ scrutinizing their every move, to be sure, b-but I think they’re less fussed with the Templars and more with the condition of their camp. C-Cullen, er, Commander –”

“Cullen.” His voice was an insistence that left little room for argument.

“Cullen,” she corrected herself again, “have you thought about allowing them to bring their camp at least closer to Haven’s gates? They have children, books, research that…th-that…” His incredulous look made her voice taper into stuttering silence, and she quickly bowed her head and looked away, toying with the buttons of her top.

He sighed, exasperated. “Not you, too,” he grumbled. “Look, I have discussed this at length with Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine – ah, the advisors – and we’ve decided it would be best to ease the fear of the refugees by ensuring that a certain distance is maintained at all times. We have the Templars there not to just watch them for any signs of abominations, but to protect them, as well.”

The sudden spike of agitation roiled her insides, yet she bit it back from appearing on her face. Barely. She hoped Cullen hadn’t caught the way her nose wrinkled or the way her brows knit together the briefest of seconds. It was a flash of change, and then she felt herself settle. _Tone it down,_ she whispered inside herself. _Anger breeds anger, fear breeds fear, and if the pattern continues, then shouting breeds no solution._

“Cullen,” she lowered her voice, bringing her eyes back to his. “Isolation isn’t the answer…”

“Min –” He looked around and then lowered his voice, sighing before continuing, “Minerva…” _He remembers my name? Maybe he asked Keryn. I suppose even if he only remembers me as the girl who burned off her eyebrows, at least he remembers me for that and didn’t come about to know me because of what I…wait, he’s talking, pay attention!_ “We need people here to work together. The people – the refugees specifically – are scared. Have you looked up and seen what magic did to the sky? They have justification to fear magic right now, perhaps the only genuine reason to fear it.” 

Another twitch of her eyebrows. Cullen seemed to notice, turning towards her entirely and staring at her expectantly. 

“This is a war consuming everyone, how can anyone pick and choose?” She managed to keep herself cool. It wasn’t her rage, it was the rage of her stolen dignity, the dangerous flare of emotions of guilt and shame. The quiet voice that tried to convince her they should fear _Templars_ , because they were metal monsters who hid behind a false faith in a prophet they didn’t respect, and a Maker whose name they took in vain, if only to justify their cruelty and actions.

“Oh, Maker’s breath,” he sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair. “What would you have us do?”

She went stiff as a board. She hadn’t been expecting him to say that. She hadn’t been expecting him to encourage her to voice her opinion, even if it may have been a rhetorical question. Even so, she took a second to lower her head and think, toying with a loose thread that hung from her thick top. 

“W-Well…for one, segregation encourages the gap created by differences to only grow,” she looked at him, blue and green latching onto his warm, amber eyes. She felt less confidence in herself than she ever had before, but Cullen’s attentive expression was never mocking, only encouraging. “Curiosity is encouraged to turn to fear, simply because any chance at finding unity in diversity is destroyed by even the most uncertain of whispers or silliest of assumptions. So much conflict…s-so much could be avoided i-if people simply asked things, acted civilized.”

“I…”

“The reason the refugees fear the mages isn’t because they-they put it together th-that the Breach is caused by magic. It’s because people inferred, and i-it may be magic-born, but,” she lowered her voice, realizing she had only grown in volume in her excitement, “but whatever it is does not dictate the morality of the rest of us. Just as…as…”

Cullen opened his mouth and Minerva shook her head, taking a deep, stabilizing breath. 

“Just as the actions of those in the war do not deem the rest of the Templars or mages unworthy.”

“You feel…very strongly about this,” he said after a long pause, rubbing his neck. She couldn't gauge from his expression if he knew about what Templars had done to her. “Look, I will press the issue further with the others. I know there is cause in what you say. You have a passion for people that does not delve into the realm of hatred, and during these times...Maker knows we _need_ it.”

Minerva blinked, shrinking back into herself. _You just lectured the poor man into submission._ “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

His massive hand raised, palm facing towards her, a gentle motion to stop. “No. I am glad you did. We need more people who cling to their ideals in times like this. When chaos shakes our very faith, we need those that continue to hold fast. As I said, I will bring this issue up to the advisors. Perhaps we can shake this deadlock we have…now, then, I will let you return to your duties and healing with Keryn.”

_You lectured, but he listened._ The thought was almost too overwhelming for her to believe. “A-Ah…r-right…right. I’ll…go back…now, to uh…the clinic. You can go back to…pummel- training – your soldiers. G-Good evening…Commander.” 

As she shuffled away, she could hear him sigh, likely from her calling him Commander again. Though she didn’t dare peer over her shoulder to catch his expression, lest she expose her boiling hot face to him. 

_He listened!_

Maybe she could do some good after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early post today, right before I go to work. If you couldn't tell, I have a little jump on these chapters, and I am at least always have a chapter ahead of what I'm posting. 
> 
> So, extra long this time, but Cullen is making more of an appearance now! You'll be seeing a LOT more of him soon (somone get Minerva a paper bag to breathe into, by the way)!


	6. The Advisors

When Cullen had said he would discuss this with the advisors, Minerva had _not_ expected to be _sodding summoned_ by them! She had not expected to be within the Chantry, outside of their makeshift war room, listening to them have their own heated debate. She had _also_ not expected the bloody Herald of Andraste to be back with all of his companions, either! And he was _**on the other side of this door!**_ She could hear them bickering inside, though their voices were muffled behind the thick wooden door. 

“We are getting nowhere! This is a waste of time.” The deep voice of a woman boomed, loudly enough for Minerva to hear it perfectly. And then they went back to quiet muffled discussion, and Minerva waited unmoving beyond the door, a bundle of anxiety and nerves.

Then the door swung open, and her eyes adjusted to the candlelit war room. Quickly making out Cullen, he nodded ever-so-slightly, and she eased herself inside the room cautiously, tiny fingers curling around one another, squirming and twitching nervously. Suddenly, multiple sets of eyes were on her, and she wasn’t sure who to look at or where. Did she bow or curtsey or fall to her knees in absolute terror or devotion. Honestly, she couldn’t say. Instead, she kept her head bowed low, keen on examining her fingernails. Beyond her hands, her boots also seemed very intriguing all of a sudden.

Cullen cleared his throat, and she heard some shuffling of clothing and the soft scribbling of a quill along paper. Then an Antivan voice, “Ah, apologies for my delay. Allow me to introduce Enchanter Minerva Valanys of the Circle of Magi, hailing specifically from Kinloch Hold.”

Minerva blinked. Another unexpected thing. They knew so much of her. Then again, she knew of Sister Leliana and her ability to acquire knowledge. 

“A-Ah…It-It’s a pleasure to meet you all…” She raised her eyes long enough to look around the room and then dipped her head in respectful acknowledgement. “B-But, please…I-I can’t really be an Enchanter without the Circles in place or any apprentices to train anymore. Just call me Minerva.”

Josephine smiled pleasantly, jotting something down briskly before nodding courteously. “Of course. But, before you is Sister Leliana, Seeker Cassandra, and the Herald of Andraste.” 

“The Commander has been rather _insistent_ that you be allowed to present your ideas to our little council,” Leliana drawled, Minerva unable to look away from her eyes. She saw something in there that she couldn’t identify – hope, curiosity? – and didn’t dare to try and delve too deeply into reading the woman who was _known_ for being unreadable. “We have taken quite an interest in what you have to say.”

_That does not help soothe my nerves._

“Good, we need someone in this circle who can offer us something with adequate conviction,” Cassandra quipped, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because it has become alarmingly clear that we cannot agree on anything.”

“I would prefer,” the Herald spoke up with a sigh, “that, first of all: Josephine, can you please just use my name? I am a human man who existed before I became the Herald. And second: can we not immediately jump into another exhausting argument? I thought we had exhausted ourselves well enough to at least act civil for the next few hours? Or, at the very least, in front of our guest.” 

“That is highly informal, though…” Josephine sighed, obviously displeased with the Herald’s request. “Apologies. Do proceed.”

Minerva bit her bottom lip, and then inhaled. “A-Ah…wh-what…shall I call you, then?”

His eyes snapped towards her, and he beamed brightly. “Finally! Someone who understands! My name is Andras Trevelyan, but for the love of Andraste, just call me Andras. All these titles are getting stifling.” As if to emphasize his point, he fanned himself and then let his head lazily flop forward in exhaustion. “Now then…you were summoned here at Commander Cullen’s request. He said you brought up the placement of the mages’ camp?”

Her hands closed around one another, and she temporarily distracted herself by eyeing over the Herald. He was tall and fair-skinned, with black hair that he had tied back with a strap of plain leather. Even tied up, the loose waves still tumbled past his shoulders. Andras had relaxed, calm, pale green eyes that reminded her fondly of the earth and trees. The nerves she felt choking her were promptly swept away at the support his silent stare gave her.

“Ah, yes,” she started, stepping closer to the table. She let her eyes run over Cullen, and while his expression was stern and devoid of a smile, she could see a flicker of something in his eyes, glinting when he tilted his chin up and arched a single eyebrow. “W-Well…the conditions aren’t too great for people to be living in.”

“The soldiers and Templars share similar accommodations. We have given all that we can spare.” Cassandra bore her gaze sternly into Minerva’s. 

A small flicker inside her chest ignited, a tiny fire. Silence it. Do not let it erupt. Hold it, but don’t let it consume you, let it fuel you.

“With…all due respect, Seeker, that isn’t what I meant,” she said, this time more firmly, forcing the stutter from her voice. “I don’t expect that mages be granted the luxuries the soldiers and Templars lack. Instead, I have come to question why they are perched so far from the walls with Templars breathing down their necks like they themselves caused the Breach.” She caught the approving glimmer in Cullen’s eyes from the corner of her field of vision. 

“We have situated them where they are safest. Do you believe otherwise?” Leliana chimed in, shifting her weight from foot to foot, but never removing her hands from behind her back.

“I do,” Minerva insisted without missing a single beat, without a moment’s hesitation. “Your separation of them - having them under guarding eyes - it silently confirms any unwarranted suspicions that the soldiers or refugees may have that they are dangerous. You claim it’s for protection, yet you exile them outside the walls, so far that I doubt you’d be able to hear them scream and attend to them before it was too late.

“Protection…protection goes beyond the physical, Sister Leliana. You damage their dignity, you strip them of their feelings of any potential acceptance by reminding them that they belong in gilded cage, away from everyone else. By reminding them they don’t belong because they could be a danger reiterates and strengthens the fear in those that are not _allowed_ to come to their own conclusions based on communication.”

“You imply to have them mingle freely in Haven?” Josephine asked, eyebrows darting up her forehead.

“And why not?” Minerva took a sharp breath and closed her eyes. She reminded herself this was only for them to hear her opinion, to get across her convictions for the sake of the people who suffered alone outside the walls. “I am a mage. I was an Enchanter in the Circle of Magi. Yet no one has fled from my path. Their impressions of me are based solely on their own knowledge of who I am, not what I am. And you must remind yourselves that these mages came to the Inquisition willingly. They could have fled, and instead, they came seeking protection and acceptance...and you would rather remind them they are to be animals kept at a distance. You forget that we are living beings who feel.”

Cullen finally sighed. “With all due respect, I believe she may be right…” All eyes snapped to the Commander, who returned to his proud, tall posture. With their stunned, awestruck expressions, he narrowed his eyes and held up a hand in defense. "That doesn't mean to say I believe they should go unchecked. With the Breach in the sky raining demons, they are even more susceptible than before, but that does not mean we liken the Inquisition to the Circles or the Chantry that put them there. And I'd like to think we are _not_ the Chantry."

“The Inquisition expects us all to work together, yet you cannot possibly expect to convince anyone that we are equal when you segregate them. Templars can watch from a distance. They can teach the regular soldiers how to spot warning signs. The mages can give them experience fighting enemies who do not wield metal weapons or rain arrows down upon them. Teach them to use tactics, _together_.” Minerva bowed her head, letting her eyes glance over the raised, scarred flesh of her palms. “The deeds of a single man do not condemn the rest of us.”

“Ah. You… _do_ feel strongly on the matter,” Cassandra grumbled, tilting her head and looking pointedly towards the Commander. “I believe that may have been an understatement on your behalf, Commander. I had not expected such a brazen lecture.”

“E-Erk! I-I…forgive me! I did not mean to lecture!” Minerva bowed her head lower, hoping she hadn’t overstepped boundaries and stepped on toes. 

Andras laughed, loudly. “She comes in, shy and timid, and then blazes a path with her fiery, immovable convictions, then tries to douse her own flames!” The advisors snapped their attention to Andras, and Minerva squirmed with wide eyes. Oh, boy, did she really hope he wasn’t about to carry on with a sentence of punishment that included her head on a spike. “I believe you have thoroughly shamed us, Minerva.”

The atmosphere in the room changed drastically, and Minerva caught onto it right away. Leliana, who was suddenly smiling like a cat that got the cream, exchanged the briefest of glances with Andras, and then with Cullen. Her eyes were bouncing around, and Minerva did not miss it in the slightest. She could have almost sworn that she was making it obvious on purpose, just so that she would notice. Cullen, on the other hand, simply looked relived that it had gone well-received, a smile that didn’t appear on his face touched his eyes instead. The softest tick of the corner of his lips made her dip her head to hide her proud smile. 

“I believe you have,” Leliana finally broke the silence. “Now then…”

“I think we have some additional things to discuss. We will most _certainly_ reach out to you soon,” Andras assured her. “You’re free to go. Thank you for your perspective on the matter, Minerva. Do take care…”

Minerva certainly did not like the look that Andras gave her. She disliked the fact that Leliana shared the same grin even more. And, it only got worse when she realized that Cassandra had suddenly caught onto whatever it was they were planning right before she stepped outside the door.

_Maker, what did I just get myself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is NEVER a good sign when Andras, Leliana, and Cassandra hatch a plan together...
> 
> Good luck, Minerva.
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying things so far! I'm trying to get the hang of writing everyone else, in small doses (for now ;) ). This is another day where I'm putting up two chapters - if only because I've already gotten the next two chapters written up. Let me know what you think, and I hope this promise of MORE Cullen and advisor-based schemes pulls you in for more!


	7. An Offer

“I-I-I…wha-what?” 

Minerva leapt from her chair, immediately regretting the decision instantly, clutching her ribs and hissing in pain. She swatted weakly at the hands that tried to steady her, and she quickly plopped back into her seat. Peeking around Andras came Keryn’s concerned stare, which Minerva hardly noticed in her state of shock and pain.

“Ah, oops. Didn’t realize you were still healing, otherwise I would’ve been more careful with my words.” Andras smiled sheepishly, but Minerva narrowed her eyes. There was an imp’s grin in there somewhere and she was staring right at it.

“The fact that the girl’s still in my clinic wrapped in bandages and reeking of elfroot didn’t give it away?” Keryn grumbled, brushing past the Herald to hand Minerva a cup of tea, which to Minerva’s delight, had been successfully strained to not include the entirety of the embrium flower. 

_Wait, I **reek** of elfroot?!_

“Point taken,” he replied. Though his dancing grin returned to his face and his stare returned to Minerva. He dragged a chair up to sit in front of her, towering above her even while seated. “So…the debate didn’t last long, because well, there was no debate. You have the fire the Inquisition requires…well, not literally, but…well, maybe literally, too…”

She pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand, letting out a groan. “This…th-this is not happening…y-you did not just…”

“Make a shite pun while carrying the title Herald of Andraste? Yeah, I did.”

“Not that!” Minerva shouted, only to immediately withdraw back into herself again. She resisted the temptation to pull the fur-trimmed hood of her tunic up and over her head. Maybe she could disappear inside of it, get pulled into the black wool like it was a portal to another world.

“Ah, right, right. You mean the whole offer to command the Inquisition’s mages,” Andras stated, his tone equal amounts teasing and confident and _casual_. It would have been even more infuriating if Minerva had lifted her gaze to see the smug smirk that was surely resting upon his lips. “Look…I’m going to get serious a moment here. It’s not often I do that, okay? We saw potential. You are the only person to come forth and demand change for the mages. Not because you wanted them to have luxuries beyond what the others had, but because you want equality.”

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and daring to look at Andras. “Of course I do…wh-why would I want anything else?”

“Because you care,” he stated it plainly. “Not just about the mages, but their position within the Inquisition. And after you left, we shortly came to realize that if we didn’t come to take your advice, we’d make prisoners of the ones who had willingly joined our cause instead of allies…we aren’t the Grey Wardens, we don’t conscript and we don’t take who we need just because we need them…”

Minerva felt at ease listening to him. She felt a tingle of excitement dance through her, but, “I have no idea how to lead. A-And there are…countless people m-more qualified than me!”

“Well, that first part’s easy,” he replied. “You’ll report to Commander Cullen, work beside him. I’m sure he’ll help you learn the ropes. It’s little different than teaching apprentices, I bet, if you’re looking for a comparison Just…maybe a few more than you’re used to. He commands the troops, the foot soldiers, the archers, and the former Templars. By reporting to him, the responsibility to ensure the mages are safe will fall upon you. You’ll also need to report that to him. We can partially lax the Templar’s watch on the mages, so long as we’ll have you checking in daily.”

“And what about qualifications!” It was a demand more than a question, and she quickly took a breath to calm down, bringing the mug of tea to her lips to silence herself.

“Do you think _I’m_ sodding qualified to be the Herald of Andraste? Nope!”

“That…does wonders for one’s assurances and faith, Andras…”

“I’m glad,” he flashed her a smirk, then went sullen again. “Look, just because someone is qualified doesn’t make them a good leader. You can have a man who knows tactics and how to command, but if he holds no compassion or love for his soldiers, he becomes a cold-hearted tyrant. If those soldiers do not believe in him, then they will be hesitant to follow. We chose you because you value your ideals…” His opened his mouth and then shut it. The way his eyes jut away made it clear what he had wanted to say. _You’re willing to sacrifice yourself for a cause._

Minerva hid her sarcastic smile. _What a better way to become a martyr?_

She relaxed in her place and stared intently at Andras. “You…y-you’re saying all of this as if I-I’ve already accepted this.”

“I am, because I’m pretty certain of your answer. That being said, it’s my intention to gain the support of the mages at Redcliffe to help seal the Breach. As allies, not prisoners.” Andras let his eyes fall upon Minerva, and her jaw dropped a bit. When the rebellion began, she had left the Circle. She had not wished for it to dissolve the way it did, she did not want to lose the security the walls of the tower provided. She did not want the Templars to leave and no longer protect them. Then again, ever since the Blight…

She shook her head. “May I…have time to consider…pl-please?”

Andras’s expression softened. “Ah, of course. The official timeframe to get back to me with lovely news, no doubt. I know your game,” he teased with a chuckle. He pressed his hands to his knees and stood up from his chair. He bowed his head a bit to her, and she flushed at the gesture before looking away swiftly. “The party and I will be venturing out tomorrow morning. We have business to attend to in the Fallow Mire before we head back to the Hinterlands…by the time we come back, I pray we’ll be able to welcome you to the Inquisition as a Commander.”

She said nothing, just nodded lightly and let him exit through the door. She felt petrified, stunned, bewildered, baffled, and even excited. Part of her wondered just how many strings Cullen had pulled on a little too tightly to get them to offer this position to her, doubtful that she had gained it by simply stomping into the war room and kicking up a fuss about the mages. Complaining didn’t get you what you wanted in life. Then again, maybe this was some kind of cruel joke. 

“Keryn,” she called, lifting herself from her seat steadily. “I’m going to get some air.”

“After that discussion, get all the air you want.”

Minerva chuckled dryly. “I will.”

“Aye, and before you go...”

“Hmm?” She paused to turn towards Keryn, the kind healer who had taken her in for weeks now, maybe even a little over a month.

“He’s right.”

She paled. “About?” _Not you, too, Keryn._

“Him already knowing the answer.” 

Teeth gnawed at her bottom lip vigorously now, and she said nothing further as she gently grabbed the staff leaning beside the doorway. Her blood had stained the gnarled stick, but by now the wood had soaked up most of the color, leaving behind only dark splotches across the bark. With slow, purposeful strides, she slipped from the house and out into the cold. The sun was sinking below the horizon, and the Breach cast a constant green glow upon everything beneath it. The moon was creeping ever higher, and it’s only glowing light was welcome on Minerva’s skin.

Did she already know her answer? When was the last time she had used her magic? Could she still do it, in spite of knowing what she had done with it the last time she used it? Murder. She had murdered people with her magic. She had charred their flesh, made them inhale the fire conjured from her palms, watched them choke and suffer and die. But she hadn’t enjoyed it. 

Was that was separated murderers from people who had killed from necessity or survival? Was it the lack of enjoyment in the act that made her different? Was it the guilt in spite of what they had done to her?

Could she bear to teach other mages to kill for the sake of peace? If she watched a demon slip into someone’s mind, would she be able to strike them down where they stood? 

As she exited the doors of Haven, she found it peaceful, only the distant sounds of nature and wind. The sky was clear, and she carried herself down the path, towards where the trees were the thickets, and she would be alone and in peace. Unless she couldn’t stop her thoughts, which she had no luck with thus far.

What did it take to be a leader? A _good_ leader? It took more than compassion and ideals.

She looked up towards the sky as the stars began to speckle the black above. Her breath plumed past her lips, dancing in the air before the wind carried it away. The chill of the Frostbacks brought her a comfort she had never appreciated before. The cold had always been unpleasant, but now it was crisp on her skin, a gentle caress that kept her alert and reminded her that she was alive. She leaned heavily on her staff, shivering as a gust threw her long tunic billowing around her thighs. The empty vials on her leather belt jingled and clinked together, a soft chime that sounded like a melody in her mind. The thick, fur-lined leather pants she wore were tight fitting, and the cold barely penetrated her layers to her skin. Her boots dared the snow to sneak in, but she felt nothing but the warmth of her wiggling toes and the plush fur.

Carefully, she laid her staff upon the snow at her feet, and reached behind her. She twisted and spun her hair around her fingers until it was in a long braid, just brushing the small of her back. With that out of the way, she slowly bent down and picked her staff up, toying with it in her gloved hands, trying to feel around it for a good grip, to remind herself what it felt like to use it again. She played with it in her hands, tipping her head back to silence her mind, to let her eyes bore into the sky, a mismatched set staring into a mismatched sky.

“All men are the Work of our Maker’s Hands,” she whispered, the Chant of Light always having soothed her during her hardest moments before. “From the lowest slaves, to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children, are hated and accursed by the Maker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andras is such a shite head. I love him though.


	8. Smoke and Fire

Eyes closed, she called upon her magic, beckoning it to her, replacing the silence in her mind that she had maintained with ease until now. In spite of the way the trees had stopped shifting in the breeze, the dancing, blue haze threw her tunic around her, her hands outstretched at her sides, as if welcoming an old friend. Her head arched back, and she opened her palms, feeling the light pulse and race before coalescing in her palms. It was cold and warm at the same time, and Minerva’s eyes slid open to bore into the sky. 

Magic was beautiful and dangerous. Magic was where two worlds met in the hands of those who wielded it. Magic was soft and strong. Magic was everything and nothing. 

Bringing her hands to her front, she watched it flicker around her fingers, like water in light. Tilting her head to the side, she felt her expression crumble a bit, lips twitching and pulling forcefully into a frown. She was so like her weapon. Mismatched and tangled, both wild and tamed, somewhere inside of her. But she was the product of opposites colliding, two worlds smashing together and melding into a single person, a person who should not exist. 

The screams echoed loudly in her mind, and she clenched her hands into tight fists. Amie’s shrieking, her own submission while prowling hands violated her. The sound of their armor and swords and daggers, the sick feel of something inside of her, the burning bile that raced up her throat, the choking stench of her own blood coating her head to toe. And then the fire, the glorious explosion that took nearly everything she had inside of her to commit. What she had thought a final act, yet the Maker had spared her. 

Their vicious, mocking laughter did not cease, and through the sound, Minerva drew upon her own strength and mind and magic. She nudged the staff from her shoulder where she had let it rest against her, and with shocking ease, she caught it in a single swipe. She allowed Wynne’s and her other mentors’ voices to fill her to the brim, to purge the sickness that she felt welling up inside of her. A few sweeping motions with the staff, twirling it carefully around her hands until she situated it comfortably in her grasp. The magic flowed from her, gracing the wooden branch with whatever might she had within herself. Her steps suddenly certain, hearing the voices of her trainers, she allowed her footwork to carry her, while her upper body threw glowing wisps of energy at a nearby tree that she had made her target.

Minerva’s body protested with flashes of pain, but she forced it to the back of her mind, and continued. Edging closer and closer to the tree, she mentally felt around the Fade, and then raised her free hand to the sky. Where her hand had just been empty, the hilt of a blade slithered around her fingers and into her grasp, summoning forth a weightless, magical blade. It felt good in her hand, and unlike the cold of nature, the cold of the blade seeped through her gloves and into her skin.

With an expert motion, she sliced at the tree, allowing it to slice flawlessly into the bark. A graceful spin that left her still-healing wounds shrieking forced her to bring the Spirit Blade back around in an arc to swipe again. And soon, she had abandoned her staff, favoring her weightless Fade made weapon. 

_“Little mage…”_

Her eyes narrowed, and she let out a cry as she slashed and hacked at the tree again. Again and again, trying to force the smell of lyrium and smoke from her mind, fighting to keep that sickening smirk at bay where she couldn’t see it, struggling to not remember the feel of their hands everywhere. All over. Around her. She needed to make it stop, make them stop, force it all into silence again. _Stop, stop, stop, stop._ She felt them, heard them, the way that they moved and the taste of her own blood was on her lips. 

The burning in her palms started once more, and she dropped the blade from her hands. It floated harmlessly to the snow, turning into swirling mist that danced blue and green sparkles of magic as it returned to its state of nothingness. But the burning did not stop. Their voices did not stop. Minerva tumbled forward before the tree, clutching desperately at her stomach. Though the flesh had been mended, it seared beneath her layers of clothing, and there was no stopping it. It felt fresh, like the sheer agony was all brand new again, happening again and again and again and…

_Someone make it stop!_

Her pleading prayers were answered.

A heavy cloak fell around her trembling body, the weight of it bringing her crashing into reality, where she knelt in snow, arms wrapped around herself like a terrified child. She caught her breath, noticing for the first time that she was crying. The sting of breath in her lungs made her realize she must have been sobbing for a while. Longer than she had thought.

Wordlessly, Cullen stepped around to face her, and crouched to her level. While she felt a sickening shame well up inside of her, the need to see a familiar, grounding face was even stronger. Her eyes, blue and green and bloodshot, met with his. They were soothing and warm, his expression almost one without a name. Yet, she placed it as unspoken understanding as he held a hand out towards her, unimposing and unthreatening. She hesitated, looking between his hand and his eyes, those striking eyes that reminded her of honey and amber and gold and candlelight. 

His gaze made the voices cease, the pain halt, the smoke and fire in her mind dissipate. 

“Minerva…” His voice was satin, smooth and soft and delicate. Her name on his lips grounding her to reality, disallowing her to unwillingly return to the waking nightmare of her memories.

_My name. He said my name._

“Come on, let us get you inside…” Cullen’s voice pierced her mind again, and she lowered her head. Though this time, Minerva managed a nod, shaking, and suddenly aware that the cold was gnawing at her so much that it hurt in the places where she hadn’t had lost feeling. Without saying anything, his hands reached for her, and then tightened his thick, fur-mantled cloak around her. Then with tenderness that Minerva cannot recall ever experiencing before, he touched her face with his gloved hands to make her look at him. She compiled and did not pull away, blue-tinted, chilled lips quivering. 

With a sigh that made his breath plume in the cold, he shifted his body, Minerva too cold to move, too distraught in the way her mind raced and her heart pounded in her ears. And then she was in the air, and he was effortlessly moving through the snow with her cradled against him, his expression one of determination and concern. His cloak was a blanket on her body, and she twisted her face to bury herself against his chest. The breastplate was cold, but the fur of his mantle around her created a barrier between her skin and it.

As she lolled her head to the side, she dared to shift a hand out from the confines of the fabric, watching in silent confusion as snowflakes fell upon and melted on her fingers. When had it started snowing? How long had she been outside? How much had Cullen seen? Gradually, her senses were returning to her, but the emotions lingered, refused to leave her. Cullen’s path brought them through the outer gates of Haven, and then to a cottage that sat near the soldiers’ tents, but far enough to still remain isolated.

Was this where Cullen stayed?

“I am certain we will never hear the end of Keryn’s fussing should I return you in your current state,” Cullen stated quietly, keeping his eyes forward as he easily navigated them inside the cottage. The heavy door fell shut, and the cold immediately became less noticeable. Though the cottage was homey, it was empty, and looked as if it hadn’t been used in months. “This was originally Master Taigen’s home. Though since the Conclave, he…” Cullen trailed off, walking into the dark with her still held against his body.

Though she registered the words, Minerva almost couldn’t make sense of them. Was this what shock felt like? She had felt this once before when the Ferelden Circle fell to demons. When she had watched someone die before her eyes, when a Templar she had known get torn to shreds with their merciless claws. When she had…

“Shhhh,” Cullen whispered, as if merely sensing her mind starting to try and pull her back into torment, moving further into the dark with her. And then she was sitting on the bed, a quivering lump of flesh buried in his cloak, which she held onto like her life depended on it. “I’ll be right back…I’m going to light a candle and the fire…we need to warm you up. Andraste preserve me, how long were you out in the snow for?”

Minerva couldn’t manage an answer, she simply shivered and watched him move about in the dark. A sudden light made her wince as the candle was set down on the table nearby, and Cullen quickly sparked a tiny fire in the fireplace in the other half of the home. It began small, then he tossed a couple dry logs into it, at first smothering it, but then allowing it to swallow the wood and grow. The fire made her recoil, and she closed her eyes. 

The voices she expected to hear, she did not. Instead, she heard Cullen.

“Minerva, you cannot put yourself in this position,” he murmured, stern but kind. “Maker’s breath, your clothes are soaked. I, uh...hold on.” He moved around the room aimlessly, searching, Minerva’s eyes latched onto him like he were her sudden lifeline, and she couldn’t figure out why. He had once been a Templar, but he was one no longer, yet he felt like her defender, like the example every Templar should follow. She needed a protector again, even when she sometimes felt so strong.

Suddenly, he thrust an oversized tunic in front of her field of vision, and Minerva blinked strangely at it before realizing what she had to do. Right, she was…cold? Cold. He wordlessly excused himself back to the fire, out of sight. Slowly sinking back into her senses, Minerva pulled her sopping tunic off, along with the layers beneath it. The fur-lined pants came next, and then she was nestled into the clean, wool tunic that fit more like a dress than the shirt it was.

For a long while, they sat there in the dimly lit cabin, Minerva playing with her fingers, and Cullen prodding at the fire to make it grow. Soon, a pleasant warmth had spread throughout and within and Cullen had taken her clothes to hang them before the fire.

“I-I am…s-so sorry, Cullen…” She finally managed, toying with her fingers again. They were red, and they burned as the feeling slowly crept back into them.

“Please,” he sighed, moving back into her field of vision. She sat stiff and upright on the bed, his cloak bundled in her lap. “You have nothing to apologize for. Though, I do have one question I would like to ask, if you would care to answer…”

“And that is?” Minerva averted her eyes, holding out the cloak to him to take back. She felt so pitiful and upset with herself, having let those grueling images invade her mind so painfully and easily. 

Cullen’s lips twitched, and he shook his head. Rather than take the article of warmth from her hands and replace it around his body, he instead took it, shook it to its full length, and stepped close. Close enough for Minerva to feel his body heat and his breath on her skin as he pulled it around her again. He kept hold of the front of it as he crouched down before her, pulling her close, so close.

“What happened?” The question made her squirm, and his expression only softened. The battle hardened Commander let his eyes rake down her face, examining her, though not for any point of weakness, Minerva observed. “Keryn only says you were wounded in the Hinterands. Amie confesses you saved her…but from what?”

“Do you…do you truly wish to know?”

“Only if _you_ wish me to.”

_What?_

Minerva stiffened, and Cullen leaned back as he sensed her discomfort. Rather than keep himself crouching before her at the side of the bed, he snagged a wooden chair and dragged it up close. There was a distance between them that made Minerva feel safe, and she huddled closer into the security of her makeshift blanket. The silence was deafening, so suffocating that neither of them spoke for what felt like ages.

“Forgive me, I doubt you enjoy being—”

Minerva snapped a hand out to grab his arm, her tiny little fingers curing tightly into the fabric he wore. She knew her eyes were likely pleading, and she couldn’t admit out loud that she wanted him to stay. Inside raged a storm, a torrent of emotions that racked against her every being, and she couldn’t stop any of it from happening. She closed her eyes as she felt him lower himself back into his seat. With every fiber of her being, she summoned the remaining scraps of strength and dignity she had left within her. She tried to remember the strength her mother had when she had confessed to Minerva the truth of her existence. 

“They violated me, Cullen,” she whispered, her hand dropping from his arm to sneak back within the confines of the fabric. “It was like…like demons clawing inside your mind, but this was inside of me. I…I stumbled upon them torturing Amie. Templars gone rogue, drunk with bloodlust and power…a-and Amie was…she-she was…the exchange.”

His eyes bolted to her. _So he hadn’t known, but the others seemed to. Cullen had no idea._

“You mean you…” He clenched his fists, body going stiff as a foul, hot rage took over his features. “What pitiful, disgusting men! They serve the Chantry, how could they…”

“I killed them,” Minerva confessed finally, this time not wavering. She dragged her glance back to Cullen. “The nightmares, though…their deaths do not bring me peace of mind…E-Even when I’m awake I can…I can feel their…their…and the blood and…fire and smoke and…”

The Commander shifted to sit beside her on the bed, a swift motion of moving her into his chest, to silence her. The rage that had began to burn inside of him had been extinguished the instant that Minerva felt herself begin to tremor and collapse inside. The ragged breaths became smooth again, and she felt Cullen rest a hand on her head. For a long time, they sat like that, in silence, savoring the quiet with the gentle lull of the wind against the glass windows. When his arms slipped away from her, she remained leaning against him, and his hands sought hers. Through the silence, accompanied only by their breathing and the crackling of the fire, they remained like this.

Slowly, Cullen began to remove his gloves, and the action startled Minerva, but she was too tired to think. Yet his hands did not roam, did not grope or pull, they soothed the burning in her fingers, tenderly and carefully trying to work the feeling back into them.

How long did he spend doing it? The candle burned low on the table nearby? Slowly, the feeling returned to her fingers, and she wasn’t quivering anymore. Her eyelids felt heavy as she further leaned against the Commander.

“The nightmares,” he murmured against her hair, his lips pressing to her hairline, “will fade. Now, sleep. You have exhausted yourself, Minerva.”

_He said my name again…_ Oh, how sweet and soothing it felt to hear her name uttered from his lips in that deep, rumbling voice that begged attention. She found herself obeying the command long before he had even suggested it, and her eyes closed. How long had passed before she felt the faint movement of her body lifted? She stirred into awareness only long enough to recognize the motion, but she didn’t stay awake long enough to register what was actually happening.

The next morning, she woke feeling emotionally drained. The night before felt like a dream still, or a nightmare, or perhaps both. But as she rolled over in her bed at the clinic, she felt the soft black and red fur brush against her face. He must have returned her to the clinic once he had ensured she was comfortable, with his clothing still wrapped around her body like a security blanket. The faintest of smiles crossed her lips, and she allowed herself to linger in bed a little bit longer that day…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! An extra long chapter, painting a bit more of Minerva's internal struggles. They aren't ignored, she just manages to bury them until they explode. Also, Minerva is a beast of a Knight-Enchanter, because who wouldn't want to throw around a Fade-blade?


	9. His Faith

“Never thought I’d see the day that Commander crack so much as a smile,” Keryn said airily, though her eyes never lifted from her work of grinding the herbs that Minerva had collected. “That man is wound tighter than a sodding Revered Mother.” 

Minerva blinked, slowly turning her gaze towards the old healer. “A-Ah…I…what?”

“It’s like he’s got a permanent sword sheathed up his—”

“I’m g-gonna g-go and…go!” Minerva swiftly stepped outside after snagging Cullen’s telltale cloak, rubbing her tender temples with careful fingers. She wasn’t so sure why Keryn seemed to so vehemently make her opinions on the Commander known, but Minerva had learned rather quickly the old woman liked to hold grudges. As she started moving, she made a mental note not to get on the healer’s bad side. Then again, she had said something about him smiling, right? 

_I wish I had paid more attention instead of drowning in my daydreams, again…_ Her thoughts abruptly ended when she collided into someone’s chest. There was a pause, and Minerva dared to raise her eyes to look up at the Qunari woman she had stumble into. 

Samara stood brilliantly undisturbed before her, ebony skin flawless and unmarred by even the slightest of blemishes. She wore a thick, trailing cloak today, one that Minerva noted was far too impractical for anything other than making a statement or display. Yet Samara effortlessly pulled it off, in all of her grace and beauty. Her eyes bore into Minerva, and the smile that settled on her lips brought her to ease.

“Ah, Lady Valanys,” came her drawling purr. “What a pleasant surprise. I was just on my way to check up on how you were fairing, my dear.”

“Wh-What? You were?” Minerva shrunk into herself, feeling incredibly intimidated by the woman’s striking features and eloquence. “W-Wait…how did you…”

“Find my way into Haven? Easily. But if you mean how I found my way into Haven without resistance…” Samara let out a laugh that reminded Minerva of bells. “Well, my dear…why don’t you go and visit that delightful, incredibly handsome Commander of yours and ask him all about it. Your actions and words give me answer enough to your state of being. Do take care, Lady Valanys.” Her eyes briefly flicked across the carefully folded fabric in Minerva’s hands, her lips quirking into a smirk. It was a knowing kind of expression that she held for a moment.

Before Minerva could register the thought to protest at the title or question the look she had given her, Samara had turned and began through Haven, seemingly already aware of where she was going. Furthermore, her words struck her as odd. What would Cullen know of the mages suddenly roaming Haven? And how did she give her that look when she spotted the Commander’s clock in her arms? The questions jarred a thought loose in her head, and excitement welled up inside of her as she took to dashing through the massive doors of Haven. The bustling people she slipped through with ease were almost a decent enough answer, but to actually witness it with her own eyes?

In the midst of the crowd of soldiers and mages moving about, Cullen stuck out over the tops of most heads. He was holding a report, which he handed back to messenger before pointing and barking orders that were inaudible for Minerva to make out. She carried herself forward, moving through the crowd and around the tents towards Cullen. By the time she made it close enough to him to speak, the crowd had dispersed, seemingly been given their orders to follow.

“Ah, Minerva,” he addressed her, tone far more formal than it had been the night before. A trace of awkward concern crossed his features, but when he noticed her smiling it vanished. “Good morning. It would seem that you have already taken notice of the rapid changes happening within the camp outside and within Haven.”

“Y-yes, of course…the mages and soldiers…”

“And the Templars,” he added with one corner of his mouth turning up. “We are preparing the camp for the arrival of the mages from Redcliffe. We have plenty of time to prepare, but if they all get acquainted now, the mages coming to us will be less hesitant to share their space with their new comrades. I pray it will alleviate the tension of feeling accepted if they see their fellow mages having already been made welcome.”

“It-It’s…astounding!” Minerva murmured, turning to watching as a soldier and mage began placing up a tent. “They’re working together…it’s so…so…”

“Unexpected,” he prompted, raising an eyebrow as a messenger passed by and slipped a stack of reports into his hand. “Come. Let’s take a walk to see what they – we – have managed to accomplish since dawn.”

Minerva trailed behind him unconsciously clutching the fur to her chest, her head practically on a swivel. Some soldiers looked disgruntled with the change, others miffed, but even more relieved at the realization that not every mage was one that used blood magic and was an abomination. The wonders of conversation and finding similarities amidst the differences. Her eyes glanced over to a female soldier letting out a loud cackle at a joke a male mage had said to her moments before while they carried around supplies to get the camp situated. Another set of women - two mages and a Templar – seemed engaged in gossip as they let their eyes dance around the _men_ in their camp. Their giggling revealed that, amazingly, Templars did more than glower here. It was refreshing, it was relieving. 

Though she suspected that their mingling would create a whole other plethora of problems. She made the mental note to insist that Keryn begin to add fresh whisterstalk to her pantry of herbs. Actually, maybe even Adan, too.

“Now, the Templars,” Minerva started, noting how a few people intently watched her and Cullen work their way past tents as the Commander inspected the condition of the canvas tents. “Some seem indifferent, but others…”

“A fair amount of the Templars you see came with me from Kirkwall,” he paused to nod at the messenger that approached, handing the reports back. “As you can imagine, they are a bit more wary than others. The ones that come from Kinloch Hold are likely to be more curious than anything. That’s a Circle that did not favor kindly to mages and Templars holding more than curt conversations and glances, as you well know. But, you and I both know that rule was more often ignored than others in Kinloch.” 

“I recognize some of them…y-you would be correct. However, that rule only became harsher after…” She trailed off, sensing the way he stiffened just as much as she at even the slightest implication that she was about to bring up what happened there during the Blight.

“Ah,yes, well, then you can perhaps understand and emphasize with their unrest,” he rested his hands on the pommel of the bastard sword that hung from his hip. “The mages seem nervous and excited, though I can’t really blame them. It’s a drastic, sudden change, and we’re all a little unsure. However, it would be best not to let any of them see us falter in our choice, lest their nerves get the better of them.”

“So long as they all recognize one another as equals,” she replied quietly, casting around a quick glance before looking back up to Cullen. “This is…this is spectacular. This could be the beginning of an attempt to start mending the relationship between Templars and mages and everyone else! A chance for them to show that they are not all fire and-and lightning and demons.”

“Of course. This is a test to see how everyone responds to having to go against all that they were forced to believe and all that they were taught. In times of duress with a common threat involved, it’s especially important that people of all origins come together. We need strength now more than ever. I have faith in them to come out of this recognizing that there is more to a person than their weapon of choice. The Inquisition is so much more than an army or an ancient part of the Chantry’s history. Together, we could do so much good, be so much more than…ah.” The flush that swallowed his face made her stare intently at him, curious as to why he has suddenly stopped.

“More than…?”

“F-Forgive me,” he sighed, rubbing his neck and looking away, casting his amber glance around the camp. “I doubt you approached me seeking to be lectured.”

“T-To be fair, I all but paraded into the war room at your behest and lectured everyone. I’d love to hear your point of view anytime…” She smiled at him, and the smile he returned made her heart flutter in her chest, like a bird in a cage.

His chuckle warmed her even further. “You may come to regret that decision if I decide to accept that offer…for now, I must return to work, there are plenty of things and people that need my attention, and there are only so many hours within the day. Should you require anything, you will know where to find me…”

“A-Ah…of course, Commander.” This time, she noticed, he didn’t bother to correct her. His eyes momentarily danced across her face, then fell to the cloak in her arms, a smile working into the molten amber of his eyes. They held each other’s stare for a moment, and she offered it to him, which he gladly took and shrugged on. She noted with a pang of sadness in her chest that her hands felt empty without cradling the cloak to her body.

“Oh, and Minerva,” he called once she had begun to slip away. His voice dropped when she turned back to him. “I am, uh…relieved that you are feeling better, and I personally believe that you would be more than suitable for the role the Herald has offered to you…think on it. Please.”

She couldn’t even manage a reply before he cast her a ghost of a smile, visible long enough for only her to catch, and then turned away. He returned to work and she was left in the constantly shifting crowd of busy-bodies, letting her mind linger on his words.

_He believes I’m worthy and suitable for the role of the mage Commander? What?_

Did he truly believe that? If so…maybe she should consider it. She had done nothing but voice her ideals and she had been considered worthy? What was it that they truly saw in her that made her valuable, that made her more than the internal, trembling wreck she sometimes felt like? Maybe that was enough – having their faith placed in her. Having _his_ faith placed in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a filler, if I'm being completely honest. Though the next chapter is INCREDIBLY long and I'm proud of it.
> 
> I'll also be posting a new story sometime soon. ;) So keep an eye out.


	10. Purpose

Andras had a smirk that made Minerva unsure if she wanted to freeze it off or smack it off. It had taken weeks for them to return, and after they had, mages from Redcliffe had begun to pour into Haven and the surrounding camp. So it was only expected that he would beaming down at her like the cat who swallowed the canary when she quietly stated that she had agreed to take the position as the commander of the arriving mages. Just in time for it to become her busiest time.

She had gotten some practice in the way of leading the last couple of weeks that had passed. Granted, this had practically all but glued her to Cullen’s side – observing, learning, absorbing. Though while she had come to appreciate his raw talent and skill in commanding and leading, she found herself more thankful for his company more than anything else. The two had grown close in a way that Minerva hadn’t quite expected, and she was pretty sure he hadn’t either. It was a pleasant surprise for the both of them, but did little to smother the gossip in Haven. They mutually agreed, however, that gossip was bound to happen, and lest they both drown in awkwardness around each other, they chose to ignore it.

Pulling herself back into the present, she toyed with her fingers, gloved in warm, fur-lined black leather. She looked the part of a mage commander as the arrivals started to pour in, courtesy of Leliana and Josephine, who had _insisted_ she look the part.

“They need a strong-looking figure to look up to. For the soldiers, it is Cullen. For the mages, it shall be you.” Josephine had said while pointing the feathery end of the quill at her. 

Now she was garbed in thick, warm clothes that made it easier to stand the worsening cold of Haven. The temperatures had only begun to sink lower as the weeks and months trekked onwards, and she had genuinely appreciated the new clothes. They had enough sense to give her a finely crafted tabard of scale mail and leather dyed blue-green. The color reminded her of magic’s natural glow, while the armor itself reminded her vaguely of the kind that Grey Wardens wore. Studded leather, a single short breastplate with the symbol of the Inquisition shaped into it, and leather leggings completed the base of the ensemble. It was easy to move in and was shockingly light, and more effective than simple linen or silk robes – unsurprisingly. Belts wrapped around her middle, from which dangled component pouches and various other things. At her hip, a small dagger fit perfectly for her small hand had been added – this time at Cullen’s insistence. 

Beneath the white fur mantle was a single leather pauldron resting upon her right shoulder. Her outfit vaguely resembled Cullen’s, she noted, though was made more for distant defense instead of the front lines. The colors complimented his – soft blues and greens and whites in comparison to his reds and blacks. One was brute force, the other the ethereal side that magic offered.

“I see Josephine and Leliana got you all dressed up nice for this, too,” Andras drawled, leaning back in his seat. One leg crossed over the other, and in her idle observation of the room, finally noticed the belt hanging from the arm of his chair, from which several daggers hung. He still donned his leather armor, and even more consistently, his smirk. “Even got you hooked up with some fancy colors to match our esteemed Commander of the regular troops. I take it they fit well?”

“Of course they do,” she mumbled, rubbing at the metal clasp at the front of her chest that secured the mantle shut. “Th-Though…I-I would’ve liked to have outfitted some of the mages before I got anything like this. My robes w-worked fine…”

Andras brought his cup of wine to his lips, then paused. “As much as I hate keeping up appearances, Leliana and Josephine had the right of it this time. We are a force that was sanctioned by the Divine. If we are to continue to appear impressive, and more than a rag-tag group of misfits collected from the corners of the Free Marches, Orlais, and Ferelden, then we need to look the part as much as we act it.”

“I suppose,” Minerva grumbled, letting her eyes fall to her feet. “But…th-that is everything, I believe. I’ll leave you to your time.”

“Of course. And Minerva, good luck. Try not to be too uptight, hm? You’re starting to remind me of Vivienne…” 

She huffed, more beneath her breath than out loud, and excused herself. With a heavy sigh, she rubbed her hands across her face and then dropped them to her sides. 

“Nervous?” 

All but leaping from her skin, she went stiff and turned her head sharply to glance over her shoulder. Leaning against the wall, hands resting on the pommel of his blade, stood Cullen, bright eyes staring intently at her and not looking away. Her reaction made the corner of his lips twitch in a momentary smirk. He was always making her jump from her skin and startling her, and her reactions seemed to amuse him endlessly. Minerva heaved a sigh, and looked away from him, back towards the doors of the Chantry, where outside there were more and more mages entering Haven. 

“V-Very,” she admitted finally, hands beginning to fiddle with themselves as she started moving again. The clanging of metal indicated that he was striding behind her, and then he was at her side, towering above her, expression stern as he stared forward. “There are so many. I-I don’t know how Andras can be so confident in me to train all of them…”

“He has a way of appearing blasé, I agree,” Cullen muttered. “Though I will give him credit for being able to in spite of the choices he seems to make without hesitation.”

“He does always seem so assured in his decisions, no matter what the rest of the world thinks. I wonder what it’s like, to do things without uncertainty.”

Cullen glanced down at her as they stepped outside, greeted by the high morning sun glaring down at them. Soldiers and agents and refugees alike were bustling all over the place, each with the own duties to perform and complete to keep Haven running. Leliana’s tent was overwhelmed by agents, and she could hear the woman’s faint accent drifting over the dull roar of the other activity happening around them. Supplies had been acquired and the task of strengthening Haven’s defenses had begun. It was inspiring, especially when Minerva caught sight of mages and Templars and soldiers working together. 

“Commander!” A voice broke through Minerva’s thoughts as her admiring gaze danced across Haven. Her and Cullen turned their attention simultaneously to the approaching runner, face flushed from having likely sprinted to them as quickly as possible. “A-Ah, Commander, ser. Another vast lot of the mages have arrived, lead by former Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed in stern concentration, and he tore his gaze away to cast a glance own at Minerva. She swallowed, never sure how he managed to maintain that expression on his face at all times whenever someone approached him. Countless times she had witnessed his “Commander voice” kicked into play, while she only succeeded in sounding like a mouse. She would hold no booming voice as he did, she recognized, but that didn’t make her any less serious. She hoped.

Minerva stepped forward, expression far lighter than Cullen’s. One thing she had noticed in her time working with the mages that trickled in the past few weeks, was that many found her gaze unnerving, even when she hadn’t fixed them with a glare. There were whispers that people said her eyes were the green of the Breach and the blue of lyrium, and when it didn’t seem to transfix people with intrigue, it undoubtedly made them uneasy. Perhaps there would be a potential positive to her unnerving, mixed gaze after all.

“Take me to Lady Fiona, please. I would have her give me the details on her mages that have arrived.” Minerva watched the messenger squirm under her eyes, but he quickly recovered and bowed his head in a respectful nod. 

“Of course, Mage-Commander.” 

Minerva glanced over her shoulder to Cullen, her expression making it immediately apparent that she was not too sure about the title, or how she felt about it. Was this how Andras felt when they had all but thrust the unwarranted title of Herald of Andraste upon his shoulders? Then again, she had submitted willingly to holding her title, though upon great insistence. Cullen’s reassuring, slight nod put her mind at a gentle ease and she turned her attention back forward again. 

When they stepped outside the grand doors of Haven, Minerva was greeted by a small, elven woman with black hair and striking eyes. The former Grand Enchanter held herself with pride, and Minerva had to admit that she was honestly surprised by the air of ease that surrounded the woman. There were few mages who had not known the name of Fiona – she was an inspiring tale to some, and a nightmare waiting to happen for others. She was a radical, but she had been a Grey Warden, roamed the Deep Roads, travelled the world, and had found herself in high-esteem in the Circles again. For a brief moment, Minerva felt a sort of strange kinship in the look they shared with one another, but it was quickly abolished by the tick of a frown pulling at the older woman’s lips.

Minerva reminded herself that due to this woman’s brash radicalisms, the Circles had been disbanded. And she had heard all about the alliance with Tevinter that had gotten a little too close to becoming solidified for her peace of mind. And that thought made her own expression grow cold, and all around them, people seemed to notice the chill rise between them as they callously regarded one another.

Standing high on the steps that lead up to Haven, Minerva felt her own ideals well up inside of her, her own passions and the morbid realization that this woman had nearly sold all of the mages in Redcliffe into an unbreakable bond of slavery and damnation rose up inside of her like a geyser threatening to explode. They shared passion, but little else. Minerva would never have handed over the people who placed their faith in her, or sacrificed her people for her own pride at the fact they were losing a war. The thought made her still as she bore her gaze down hard upon the former Grand Enchanter.

“Welcome,” Minerva finally said, finding her voice. “Welcome to Haven, and the Inquisition. I am Mage-Commander Minerva.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Fiona mumbled, bowing her head respectfully. She seemed worn and tired. “I am thankful for the…hospitality that we were offered upon arrival, and grateful for the kindness that the Herald has extended to us.”

Minerva crossed her arms over her chest. “Excellent,” she paused, letting her eyes drift across the mages standing behind Fiona. A distance away, Templars stood further behind, their faces obscured by metal helmets. Their position wasn’t threatening, but wary and watchful, just as Cullen had commanded. Her eyes snapped to the messenger. “Ensure that the mages find their places within the tents, please.”

“Yes, ser.”

Minerva watched the messenger gesture with his hands, then turned her attention back to Fiona as the elf began to move away, feeling as though she too had been dismissed. 

“Fiona,” Minerva descended the stairs, and as she moved closer, it became immediately apparent to Fiona how small she was in comparison. Fiona stood quite a bit taller than the elf-blooded commander. “A word in private, if you will.” She gestured with a gloved hand towards the path that passed the forge and headed away from the main encampment. 

“But of…of course.” Fiona trailed behind Minerva, and eventually the pair kept stride with one another.

Minerva sent a look over her shoulder to Cullen, giving the slightest of nods and the faintest of smiles. He returned the gestures, and went to assisting in the placement of the mages. Minerva felt her heart swelling in her chest with a rapid beating that made her unsure if it was caused by anxiety or anger. Before her actions decided for her, she smothered the flames inside and placed her hands behind her back, walking in drawn out silence besides Fiona.

“Andras enlightened me to the alliance you had intended to form with a magister,” she finally broke the silence, and paused her strides to look up at the older woman. Their gazes met, and Minerva watched as a frown pulled tightly at the corners of Fiona’s lips. “You are here under the Herald’s decision as allies to the Inquisition, to help seal the Breach, and to help restore order as necessary. Though the mages were technically under your direction, here in the Inquisition, they fall under _my_ command.” 

“I…understand…”

Minerva stared harder into Fiona, seeing the expression of defeat on her face. She did her best to maintain the stern expression, but found it quickly softening. “With all due respect, Lady Fiona, it is not because I doubt your accomplishments. I simply do not trust you.”

That made her head snap up, but the fire vanished from Fiona’s gaze instantly. “I suppose, given the circumstances, that is something I cannot place blame upon you for.”

“Even if you tried to convince me that you are trustworthy, you would fail,” Minerva responded, looking away from the Grand Enchanter and to their makeshift training ground. “They placed their trust in you, and you abused it recklessly and without thought other than winning a war. You nearly sacrificed their well-being and lives and freedom for the false promise of a magister who merely wished to use you all as fodder and slaves and tools. Did you truly think this a noble cause? A noble sacrifice for your people?”

“I thought it less a sacrifice and more a necessary evil,” Fiona admitted. “We needed the help to win, and the timely intervention seemed perfect.”

“A necessary evil,” Minerva replied coolly, “implies there is sacrifice. I am sure you have given up much in your life, but your pride seems to have not been on that list. How would you have felt, watching as the people who trusted you enough to blindly follow your every decision had died, innocent in all but their association with someone they called their leader?”

Fiona dipped her head. “I…would have felt terrible.”

“Let that feeling stain your mind and burn into your heart, Lady Fiona,” Minerva stated, calmly stepping back and turning away. “I will need you to recall that feeling so long as we are allies, so that you can remind yourself why I have relieved you of your command of the mages in all but name.”

With an exhale to calm herself, Minerva began moving away from the woman. Her heart raced and thudded in her ears, sound loud that she felt deaf to anything but her own blood and heart. She did not trust Fiona, and never would for as long as she breathed. As she stepped into the camp, passing by mages young and old, she wondered how anyone could dare to risk these people for their own gain. She understood war would always result in loss, the Blight had taught her that lesson more harshly than any other. Yet to willingly throw _others_ into the maw of a beast for the sake of…of what? It was out of desperation that Fiona had acted, and while Minerva could begin to understand the feeling, she also _couldn’t_ wrap her head around it.

She had thrown _herself_ into the flames of suffering to end another’s. 

As she looked around at the others, she wondered if that is what made a good leader – a willingness to sacrifice for the good of others, to respond to desperation by not ending the life of others, but by the prospect of ending one’s own life for the chance that the others would survive.

It was a complex thing, to wonder what gave her the strength the others saw in her. Yet as she gestured to people around the camp, giving orders and soft-spoken direction, she felt something inside of her grow. It was a warm feeling of control and strength she hadn’t felt in months.

As she read over a detailed report of the newest mage arrivals, she felt something boring into her; someone’s eyes were all but burning a hole through her. At first, she had thought it an unpleasant sting, and then she looked around, exploring the crowd until her eyes locked with Cullen’s. Across their camp of mages, soldiers, and Templars, their actions mirrored one another, and the smile that their eyes shared was unspoken, brief, and sweet. She stifled her laughter when the messenger leaned closer to Cullen and startled him from their staring contest. A flush raced to his cheeks as he briskly turned away and began barking orders again.

Perhaps the Maker had spared her from death for this. For being the leader that the mages deserved, for offering them a place of solace in a world gone mad by actions committed by others. She would gladly be that person for them to come to for guidance. And the thought that Cullen would be the one by her side through it all gave her peace of mind, and something else in her heart that she forced herself to ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm super hyped for the next chapter. ;)


	11. A Good Reason

The weight of the blade conjured from the Fade was almost unnoticeable in her hand as she circled slowly, her boots forming a track in the snow as she moved. Her eyes were watchful, cautious, trying to catch any slip-up in her opponents footwork or concentration. Yet she was greeted by cold calculation, a watchful stare that made her feel as if her weaknesses were naked and exposed, no matter what stance she claimed. Minerva considered her opponent for a moment, wondering how long they could maintain this game of patient observation and careful ministrations. 

She received her answer all too suddenly.

Without a word, Cullen charged forward with quick, fluid movements, and Minerva found her back in the snow, dizzy from the impact of his shield knocking her down. The breath from her lungs had escaped, and she wheezed lightly. He hadn’t bashed her – had insisted not to – but the force of his movement had been enough to knock her off of her feet. She laid there, letting her blade vanish into soft, twinkling orbs of magic, and then watched it entirely disperse into nothingness.

“Perhaps you should pull a shield from the Fade while you’re at it,” he teased, offering a hand to pull her to her feet. “Come on, let’s try again.”

When the day’s activities had died down, the pair had stepped outside of the walls of Haven to train. Minerva had all the book knowledge of things in the world but she had begged Cullen to help her place them into practice. They had begun to do so, away from the prying eyes of their charges, to help smother any gossip before it even began. It had been only a few days since the arrival of the mages from Redcliffe, and Cullen had bested Minerva multiple times, over and over again, during their trainings during the nights. It didn’t matter if she flung magic or charged at him with reckless abandon, she had yet to break his expert defenses. He was phenomenal.

“Your hubris is showing, Commander,” Minerva muttered, returning the smile to him. This time, she didn’t call her blade to her right away. Instead, she held her staff in her right hand, while the other remained empty to cast more intricate spells. With a single flourish of her hand, a defensive barrier formed around her, a soft blue hue that mingled with the green the Breach threw upon them from the night’s sky. “Al-alright, I think I got it this time…”

“We shall see, then, won’t we?” Cullen mused, raising his shield up. 

The dance resumed, and Minerva conjured fire in her hand, the flames harmlessly licking her fingers. For a moment, she noticed Cullen’s expression change, and hesitation stuttered his steps, but he resumed almost immediately and without any further faltering. She wondered if magic made him nervous ever since…

She pushed the thought away, smiling innocently as she tossed the fire around his steps, a perplexing action that made him angle his shield down. Though the fire only melted the snow and singed the grass beneath it all around his steps, but never at him. 

“Your aim is atrocious,” he remarked, blunted sword angling slightly as he prowled closer. The two circled one another, with Minerva continually tossing the harmless flame seemingly haphazardly all around them, until a single of mud devoid of snow sat beneath their feet. 

“Not quite, Commander,” she stated casually, letting the flame sink into her hand, reforming as frigid cold ice as she held her staff defensively before her. And then, she swept her hand out, throwing out a frozen chill that made the melted snow freeze beneath them. Cullen, assuming it had been a motion to finally assault _him_ , angled his shield low and moved to take her off her feet again.

His boots caught on the ice, just as Minerva had intended. She wanted to squeal at her success and ability to finally cause the ever-standing, stoic Commander to trip over himself. Though her glee at her plan’s success ended abruptly as Cullen’s fumbling body failed to regain composure, and slammed into her. Instead of only her hitting the ground, the two both tumbled to the snow, weapons abandoned as they rolled and bounced painfully down the steep slope that they had been precariously edging towards. Finally, they hit a dip in the slope, and they tumbled to a stop. Their weapons had been discarded, lost in the tumble that hadn’t seemed to seriously injure either of them.

But her staff, his shield, and his sword were the furthest thing from Minerva’s mind right now. Cullen’s body rested above hers, their faces dangerously close to one another. She felt her barrier ebb and then shatter into nothingness, leaving them in the relatively soft glow of the Breach and the looming moon overhead. 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered, not moving away as he stared down at her, expression laced with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” Minerva managed, struggling to find her words. Their faces were so close to one another, so close that she could feel the tingle of his breath on her skin. She could smell the aroma that hung from his clothes and skin, the faintest smell of elderberry flowers and oakmoss. It wasn’t suffocating or vile, it was a sweet, natural smell that reminded her of the spring time. “Th-Though I believe I won that one…”

“Hardly,” he said, tone accented by a scoff as he looked down at her. “I do believe that I took _you_ down a snowy slope and not the other way around.”

Minerva flushed. “B-But! I was the one that _made_ you fall in the first place!”

“If I were your enemy, you’d be dead!” He retort, letting their faces remain close. It was becoming hard for Minerva to focus on anything else. “Any enemy wouldn’t have dropped their weapons.”

“That hardly means you won this one, though, Commander.”

There was a pause, and the stared at each other. Minerva prayed that he couldn’t hear the way her heart pounded chaotically in her chest. She also hoped the green from the sky offset the red forming on her cheeks, and if it didn’t, she hoped that it looked like it was just from the cold. In a position that should have made her feel anything but terrified, with his body hovering over hers, dominating her field of vision completely, she felt safe. 

“I believe,” he drawled, voice suddenly quiet, his face drawing closer and closer. She tried to bury the girlhood crush feelings deep inside of herself, tried to ignore the way her mind was screaming for this to be happening. His voice continued on, drawing her back to herself, “I believe…I won, Mage-Commander…”

Minerva felt her lips twitch, and the look in Cullen’s eyes most assuredly matched her own. There was a flick of sensual flame behind those glowing, amber orbs of his. They drifted her lips, and he leaned down, closing the distance between them. So close, so close that their nose brushed against each other, and she could feel their breaths mingling in the frosty, frigid air. Slowly, his gloved hands shifted in the snow, the movement easily followed by just listening, by watching the way his gaze flicked up and away from her face a moment. Their fingers suddenly knotted together, and Cullen dragged her hands above her head, pinning them there with a delicacy that betrayed the strength she had come to know him for. 

She swallowed, unable to find words as she parted her lips in expectation. His eyes returned to her, a silent compliment as his eyes lingered over hers. Treading endlessly closer, it took what felt like an eternity before Cullen’s lips dared to brush against hers.

Or, well, they _would have_ , if the distant shouts for them hadn’t been heard echoing from across the lake. The pair went completely stiff and still, and Cullen’s fingers immediately freed Minerva’s. There was an awkward acknowledgment of what had almost transpired, and then Cullen was on his feet, pulling Minerva up onto hers quickly. 

“A-Ah…we should…” Minerva scrambled for words to say.

“A-ah…ahem,” Cullen cleared his throat. “Yes, we should return to Haven…”

With awkward fumbling, they managed to climb up the slope and retrieve their weapons. When they returned to the camp, both refusing to make eye contact, covered in snow and looking incredibly disheveled, there were some questioning stares to say the least. Their cheeks were glowing bright red under the scrutiny, but it took Cullen all of a heartbeat to immediately regain his composure, his embarrassment replaced by something Minerva saw as far more strict and annoyed than he had ever been with one of his charges. He was a harsh commander, but the menacing glower he had on his face now made the poor soldier step back and raise his hands.

“A-Ah…apologies for interrupting your training, Commander,” the soldier managed. “B-But there…there’s an abomination in the camp, ser!”

Minerva and Cullen stilled, their eyes meeting as they looked between one another, then back to the soldier. Their weapons came out, and it was suddenly time for business. The last time Minerva had seen an abomination, she had vowed to destroy them and to refuse her fear of clenching her heart. And she had always thought that if she had seen another in ten years, it would have been too soon. And it turned out, it was definitely too soon.

It certainly was a good reason to interrupt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't murder me, please. :)
> 
> Also, do you guys prefer longer or shorter chapters? 
> 
> Furthermore, I am currently working on another story - an AU. An _Avvar_ AU, because have some ideas that I would simply love to put into words. I hope to have the first chapter completed soon, as I intend on making that story's chapters a bit longer.


	12. Not A Good Reason

It certainly _was not_ a good reason to interrupt.

Minerva rubbed her temples with exasperation evident in the way she sighed, while Cullen looked like he was caught between amusement, disgust, and rage.

“Let me get this straight,” Bull started, waving a hand casually through the air. “You guys thought that what was happening in here was an abomination? That…is fucking hilarious.”

Cullen groaned, pressing his gloved fingertips to his forehead. “On the contrary, one of the soldiers thought it was an abomination, and quite frankly, I would still say he was correct.”

“Your words wound me, Commander,” the Qunari replied, giving a smirk and a shrug of his shoulders. He hadn’t even bothered to hide his nudity since being discovered. Needless to say, it ended up with a train of Cullen, Cassandra, and Minerva stunned into stumbling back, eyes wide. It was like watching a wagon burn. You knew it was terrible, but you couldn’t look away. “But if that’s what riding the bull sounds like…” 

His words elicited another groan from Cullen, a muttered prayer to the Maker under Cassandra’s breath, and a frantic escape Minerva was making from the tent. She could hear Cassandra and Cullen scolding Bull, before both followed suit and emerged from the canvas tent. A small gathering of people half-asleep and curious, some with weapons drawn, had accumulated and formed around the area. 

“Alright, there is nothing to see here! Return to your tents!” Cullen barked, waving his arms to shoo everyone away.

“I do not think I will ever un-see what I have just seen.” Cassandra blinked, staring past Minerva even as she faced the smaller woman. Minerva bit her lip and patted the Seeker’s back as reassuringly as she could manage. To be honest, she commiserated with Cassandra, and she had placed another thing on her list of “If I See It In 20 Years, It’ll Still Be Too Soon” things. The sight of it just brought so many questions, and most of them supplemented by confused, pained horror. And phantom pains. Lots of phantom pains.

“I do not know which was more impressive,” Cassandra said, still bearing that far-away look in her eyes. “The sight or the fact that she was –”

“Maker’s breath! Can we please just forget this happened?” Cullen griped, rubbing his face once he was satisfied with shooing everyone back to the seclusion of their tents. “I would rather we not have to implement more patrols…and of _tents_ , no less. A damned waste of resources that would be…”

“When I suggested everyone combine and work together…th-that wasn’t quite what I had…in mind…” Minerva muttered, the three of them stepping a bit further from the tents. They paused and shared a silent exchange of glances that told one another that they would never directly speak of this instance again. Ever. Cassandra finally relaxed, and threw her hands up, marching up the steps of Haven and disappearing beyond the high stone wall.

Though something did strike Minerva as a bit odd. And it wasn’t – no, do _not_ go there again! She peered at Cullen curiously, shifting her staff in her hands and leaning against it. The calm of the night settled again, and the silence was accompanied by the mutterings of soldiers and mages as they returned back to sleep.

“Cullen,” Minerva whispered, furrowing her brow in curiosity. “How come you didn’t begin to suppress the magic in the area when we were told it was an…” She trailed off as his gaze lowered to her, the dangerous glint in his eyes lasting only a moment before he heaved out a sigh.

“I was wondering when you would notice.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes, gears turning in her mind. Every time that they had sparred, every time he had trained the Templars, every time he had helped with the training of the mages, she had never once felt the magic-oppressing power that he had once wielded, the power that Templars gained through use of lyrium to combat mages and magic. 

Her eyes went wide. “You stopped taking lyrium.” It was spoken so softly and carefully.

“Many months ago,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But this is…a conversation for another time. After the horror that I just witnessed, I think I’ve had enough of strange, terrifying sights that inspire even worse conversation for one night. We will…we will talk another time about this.” His words were a promise.

Before she could object, Cullen fled swiftly behind the canvas flaps of his tent, leaving Minerva alone to quietly contemplate this new discovery. With a sigh, she shifted the staff in her hands again, and excused herself to the Chantry, where she would pray to the Maker to remove the images of Bull and that woman from her mind. She didn’t need those types of things sitting in her mind right now – and certainly not anything so perplexing as…as whatever _that_ had been.

Many would find it curious how a woman who grew up in an alienage, half breed though she was, could find solace in the Maker. Taking one glance at her features almost made it apparent that she was certainly of mixed origin, yet she did not worship the way the city elves or Dalish did. Her mother often found comfort in the Maker, though she had never admitted that to any of the other city elves out loud. After spending time in the Ferelden Circle in Kinloch Hold, Minerva had found her most peaceful times in life when she was in the Chantry there, quietly contemplating and praying silently to the Maker. He never replied, but she prayed the same anyway, and took it more as a time for reflection than anything else. She wondered if that’s how her mother felt, too.

Needless to say, He didn’t aid her in her plight this time either. So she had retreated to the clinic, where she hid away in her cot, with the blanket yanked over her face. As she tried to expel the images from her mind, she found that they were instead replaced by Cullen’s face. Close to her, with the Breach burning bright behind him, his massive fingers tangled tightly around her own. The faint smell of nature clinging to his body, the tiniest lock of strawberry blonde hair daring her to try and sweep it away. Minerva could still feel the heat of his breath, the pounding of her heart, the glow of gentle determination in his stunning eyes.

There was a question on his lips, and an answer on hers. Caught in between, a magnetic pull that drew them ever closer to one another. Closer and closer and closer, until the static built up, and there raged a fire inside of her stomach that didn’t burn in the way she was used to. It didn’t result in ash and smoke and death. It was pleasant and welcoming, soothing until it riled her up, burning brighter and brighter. But then there was an interruption, and her imagination faltered to replicate – or even begin to fathom – what his lips would feel like against hers. A kiss was a kiss, chaste and curt, polite in greeting, gentle in intention. But with Cullen, it didn’t feel like it would be the same – there would be no familial connection between them, no polite courtesy.

Minerva sighed into her blankets, shooing the lingering thoughts from her mind. Then her thoughts danced to her mother, her beautiful mother who had died during the Blight. Her mother, who had been so strong and wise, who had hid many things about herself to appear pleasing to others, to _be_ pleasing to others. Her mother, who had died likely in terror, with secrets weighing heavily in her heart that would never fall past her cold lips.

_“Shartan?” Minerva asked, wide-eyed._

_“Shartan,” her mother repeated, a smile dancing on her lips. “Andraste named him her champion after he rescued her.”_

_“B-But that’s not in the Chant of Light,” Minerva protested, though leaned forward regardless. “Most people it’s not true!”_

_“But it is,” her mother whispered, lips curling. “Some even say they were lovers. Though I have no book, I know the verses, even though they were removed from the Chant…”_

_“R-Really? T-Tell me!”_

_“Shhh, you’ll wake everyone,” her mother hushed her, though the glitter in her eyes showed she appreciated her daughter’s enthusiasm. “Are you ready? Come, come. Get into bed, and I’ll recite them…” Minerva crawled into bed then, the rickety cot creaking beneath her. Her mother gently tucked the scratchy, blanket around her slim body, and sat down on the edge of the bed._

_“Ready…”_

_“Wonderful. Now…” Her mother tilted her head close, and began:_

_“The host of the Lady_  
Began to falter. The legion  
Turned spear and sword, fire  
And ice upon them, and the warriors  
Of the Prophet were scattered,  
Divided from their commanders  
By magic, penned like cattle for slaughter. 

_Shartan saw that walls of ice_  
Surrounded Andraste and her warriors,  
And he rallied the People.  
And with arrows aflame,  
The walls of magic melted  
And the Prophet and her warriors were free.” 

Her mother’s voice faded into nothingness then, as Minerva drifted to sleep in her dream, delving deeper into the blackness of her mind that settled into a calm peace. She could hear the continued muffled words from her mother, though could hardly make them out to understand them. 

And then Minerva’s eyes were open, and there was sun filtering in through the window of the clinic. Keryn still slept in her own cot, her snores heard through the early morning quiet. As Minerva listened quietly to the sound, she remained still, and wished she could return to sleep, return to the Fade where she could dream of her mother. But duties called to her, and beckoned to her until she finally coaxed herself from her blankets. She tied her straight, long, silvery-blonde hair into a bun at the top of her head, and shrugged on her clothing before slinking from the small building. 

Minerva struggled to bury the guilt inside of her. Not at wishing to betray her duties to dream of her mother, but because part of her wished to dream of Cullen even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience! This week has been pretty hectic with everything going on!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter that was a little less serious than the others. ;)


	13. Green Fire

Days trickled past them, and the days eventually bled into weeks. Yet time seemed to cease abruptly as passage neared a month’s time. The breach in the sky crackled and hissed, throwing shades of green and black across the shattered remnants of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It was miles away, high above them, looming over them like a god that was anything but benevolent. This god was no god at all. This seething opening in the sky was chaos incarnate, the result of things that no one could even begin to understand. 

And the closer that you stood to it, the more menacing it appeared.

Minerva had faced down abominations and demons in and out of the Fade, but nothing quite compared to the pulsing energy of a tear in the Fade of this magnitude.

The time had come. Weeks had passed – weeks of training, weeks of preparing, weeks of praying. She wondered what it would all mean when it was over. Where would her mages go? Would they remain part of the Inquisition? Would they all remain? What purpose would they serve once the Breach was sealed?

For weeks she had tried not to let her mind wander to the Commander. Try as she might now, though, her eyes danced towards him, watching him calmly gesture to his soldiers. Where had the time gone with him? And whatever happened with them, with the Inquisition, why didn’t it feel like enough?

“Grip that staff any tighter and you’re gonna snap the soddin’ thing in half,” Andras teased, the nudge of his elbow shaking her back into reality. “There we go. Gotta be gentle with a shaft that long.”

Minerva reddened and closed her eyes. “You’re foul…”

“Just tryin’ to lighten the mood. Kinda bad for morale when it looks like a bloody funeral is about to happen,” Andras thrust a finger into her face, “And by morale, I mean _my_ morale! I’m the one with the glowing hand of Andraste or whatever, right? So if anyone should look all somber and uptight, it should be me!”

The flicker in the Herald’s green eyes made Minerva pause a beat. She stared, narrowed her eyes, then leaned close. “You _are_ afraid…so you are capable of something other than whimsy.”

Andras threw his hands up in defense, his expression one that indicated he took nothing but offense from her words. “Don’t go throwin’ words like that around! Bad for morale!”

Minerva’s expression softened, and she turned away to look up at the sky. “It’s okay to be afraid. Or be unsure. You know that…right?”

“Being the almighty Herald of Andraste doesn’t really leave room for doubts, now does it?” Andras muttered, dropping his hands to his belt. He heaved a sigh, and leaned against a stone pillar that hadn’t yet succumbed to destruction.

“Of course it does…” Minerva tightened a strip of leather on her staff’s grip. “Doubting and feeling emotion makes you human. It makes you alive. Andraste was alive, too. And if you believe she didn’t once question herself or her choices, then you’re a fool. The Prophet is painted out to be this golden beacon of hope, a woman who stood unwavering in all that she did. It was the fact that in the face of all of her doubts and questions, she _did_ still stand unwavering in her choices. You don’t have to know what’s going to happen, Andras…you only need to have faith in yourself to carry through with it.”

There was a long silence. The pause that settled between them was comfortable, and allowed them time to watch and listen as Cullen, Cassandra, Solas, and Leliana commanded people to their posts. She should have been with them, but Cullen has insisted the area be scouted and prepared for the mages to be stationed first. A small part of her was taken by his worry.

“Is that what you do?” Andras mumbled his question. 

Minerva blinked and snapped her gaze to him. She had never seen him take many things seriously in the time she knew him. He was always making people laugh and smile, so to see him without a smile for once…it made her stomach clench.

“I…try. I try, yes. I used to be…content…with being meek and quiet. Such is the way of mages. But I felt better when I took ownership of my choices and actions. And even if I’m uncertain, I can’t afford to let that get in the way. I still feel that plenty of times, especially with this station that’s still so new to me. But feeling it and letting it dictate what happens are two different beasts. I won’t let uncertainty stay my hand when it’s better not to be stayed.”

“I see…” Andras sighed. For a minute, Minerva was at a loss what to say to him. He seemed resigned to what he was doing, almost as if he had forfeited something in his mind to merely speak those two words. “Well…no time like the present, eh?” With that, he leapt over the side of the railing, plummeting down to the ground below. 

After Minerva nearly finished having a heart attack over the sight, she caught the signal from Cassandra, and made her way down the safer route to the floor of the ruins. 

“How is he?” Cassandra moved close to Minerva, her words low. She didn’t want anyone to know her concern for the Herald. Minerva tried to fight the hint of a smirk on her lips.

“Andras is…well, he’s Andras,” she answered with a dismissive shrug and smile. “How is everyone else? Are we prepared?”

“As prepared as we can be.”

“Good…” Minerva swept past Cassandra, striding before her charges. They all looked stiff and anxious, and to be fair, she couldn’t really blame them. They were facing the unknown with the Breach and whatever it held. No one had seen or encountered anything quite like this in written history. Just thinking about it made her stomach start to churn as well.

Eventually, her pacing brought her next to Cullen’s side, his towering figure looming over her, still as a statue. Together, they stood before Templars and mages alike, aligned behind them on opposite ends. The nervous energy from the mages could be felt even from where she stood, and she was thankful for having Cullen by her side so she wouldn’t feel the same. The Templars, disciplined and controlled as ever, showed no signs of trepidation or anxiety. 

“Commander.” She acknowledged quietly.

“Mage-Commander.”

“Are you ready?” She didn’t dare to lift her eyes to his.

“As ready as we can be…” Cullen trailed off, then the shifting of his armor drew Minerva’s attention. Their eyes locked, and that familiar heat in the pit of her stomach began to form a molten core that made her want to tremble. “Once this is said and done, I…we…well, I need to have a word with you about something…it’s a matter that’s been plaguing my thoughts non-stop.”

“O-Oh…” Minerva squirmed, but forced herself to hold his gaze. Their expressions were equally intense, and she hoped that murmurs and rumors wouldn’t come from their heated whispering. “B-But of course, Commander. Later.”

“Yes. Later.”

But later seemed to always be interrupted by something…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge delay and long time since posting!
> 
> I had to have an urgent surgery done rather abruptly, which put me out of commission for weeks. Luckily, I'm finally feeling somewhat better, and I should be posting a bit more regularly again now! 
> 
> For now, enjoy this short chapter. I wanted to get something out! Thanks for sticking with me! :'D


	14. We Are More

In the face of doubt, Andras had persevered, though Minerva knew how heavily his questions weighed upon his heart and mind. She could only imagine the fear that wracked his bones and shook him to his core as he stood down a threat perhaps more horrifying than an Archdemon. They knew an Archdemon could fall, but no one was certain about the Breach. They only had the word of an elven apostate and fragments of research that suggested only the possibility of success. Andras Trevelyan had thrown himself again and again into fate’s monstrous maw, perhaps sometimes without hope of emerging victorious…or at all.

But because of that determination to continue down the path that Andraste had placed him upon, everyone was able to breathe easier. The sounds of merriment rang throughout Haven, and Minerva was delighted by the sight. Even the stoic Templars that they had recruited were cracking smiles and reveling in the moment of victory. The mages looked relieved and exhausted, but for the first time in a long time, most of them were smiling and celebrating and happy. Differences seemed to melt into nothingness. There were no class, caste, or skill divides. The Maker’s given gifts to His children held no place in this hour of united victory and joy. There were no mages, no Templars, no Lay Sisters, no soldiers – there were only men and women of all races happy to see the wound in the sky closed, with only a scar left behind.

Crowds had never entirely been her strong suit, and Minerva was more than happy to sit and overlook those dancing around the burning fires below. The crisp, billowing breezes of Haven carried a less sinister air than they had in months, and she was thankful that she could be standing here to take it all in. Like a silent sentinel, looming over those that she had taken under her wing, over those that had already begun to look to her for guidance and command and leadership. 

Minerva stood on the same tier of Haven as the one that housed the Chantry, Leliana’s tent, and the requisition officer’s tent. Leliana was buried away in the Chantry, no doubt further solidifying contacts and assisting Josephine with letters to be carried away on the wings of ravens to strengthen their position. Even the Quartermaster, with her abrasive nature and lack of popularity due to opinion, was having the time of her life dancing around the fires and drinking. From over the dancing ribbons of flame, Varric cast a wave towards Minerva, who hesitantly returned it. Sera disappeared into the crowd of people, her snorting laughter heard only faintly through the whimsical notes of a bard playing music.

Solas watched from the edges, Blackwall partook in sharing ale and food with Iron Bull and his men, Vivienne played perfect hostess to several nobles of Orlais, and Dorian and Andras seemed hell bent to beat the other at their intense game of cards. 

From behind, the sound of armor and leather broke Minerva’s focus. She arched an eyebrow, but met a face she hadn’t quite been expecting to see. Not entirely.

“Why are you not celebrating with everyone else? You have earned this just as much as anyone.” Cassandra towered over the elf-blooded woman, but the aura of oppression she had sometimes felt in the woman’s company had since abated. 

Minerva shrugged. “I could ask you the same question.”

“There is much left to do, or so Leliana tells me.” Cassandra cast her glance down towards Minerva, who met the stare with her own. The two sighed, and then looked back to the celebration. “Perhaps I will go and share a few drinks with the Herald.”

A knowing smirk tugged onto Minerva’s lips.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Not a word, Mage-Commander…” 

With that, the warrior sauntered off towards the crowd, and from a distance, Minerva watched as she nearly made Andras leap from his skin in surprise. Apparently he and Dorian had been so caught up in what they were doing that he hadn’t heard Cassandra approach from behind. Even from a distance, she could see the way that Andras’s expression melted into a smooth smile with a warm twinkle in his pale green eyes. It was no wonder the women went mad for him. More specifically, it was no wonder that Cassandra went mad for him.

“Minerva?” 

_Speaking of going mad…_

“Comm-er…Cullen…”

Andras had a way to make someone’s heart melt with minimal effort. He would toss out a few honeyed words and a little wink and a laugh, and your heart would settle right in his palm. Whether it was a game he liked to play or just something he had made a habit of, no one could truly tell. But whereas Andras played the game of wooing women like it was as much a gift as the mark on his hand, Cullen didn’t even need to play. Hell, Minerva was pretty certain he wasn’t even aware that his smile made her heart leap into her throat and stop any words from coming out.

“Not one for the festivities? I suppose I can share that sentiment. We’re far from over with our work, and there’s still plenty to do.” Cullen’s expression turned into one of contemplation as he stepped up besides her on the short overlook.

“You forget there weren’t really parties to attend in the Circle…they’re a bit out of my comfort zone, I suppose. Besides, I feel a bit…misplaced among everyone.”

A grin tugged at Cullen’s lips. “Welcome to my life. Apparently people become quite bewildered when seeing a smile on the face of someone who is often ‘too serious’. You wouldn’t believe the amount of times that Varric has tried to tell me to find a hobby or smile more often or I’d end up dying early.”

“Well, it is true. You _do_ need a hobby, Commander.” The tone in her voice was teasing, and she dared not raise her eyes to look up at Cullen. That being said, she could feel the way he slowly bore his gaze into the side of her face.

“I’ll have you know I have plenty of hobbies. Many of them just happen to overlap with my job.”

“I don’t think I’d classify yelling at recruits as a hobby…”

“It is if you find enjoyment in it,” he countered, and this time Minerva turned her head to catch the good-natured smirk on his face. “We all have our pastimes, Mage-Commander. It would serve you well to remember that.”

“Right, of course. How silly of me. And here I thought you didn’t know the definition of fun, Commander. How terribly wrong I was.” That earned her a momentary scowl, but she knew better than to take it seriously. 

Silence pervaded the space between them, and Minerva took a moment to happily gaze down upon their charges. Their smiles filled her heart with joy, and for the first time in a long time, she harbored the searing, burning hope in her chest that this would break ground in negotiations, serve as a stepping stone that mages and templars needed to form a genuine sense of camaraderie. Perhaps in due time they could alleviate tensions and begin to look at one another as equals instead of lesser or higher men and women.

Cullen cleared his throat. “As much as I enjoy our friendly banter, that’s not why I came to find you,” he started, rubbing his neck and keeping his eyes on anything but her. “There was something I wished to discuss with you.”

_Oh. Right. That._

Minerva had completely and utterly forgotten about him mentioning that. While her heart fluttered in her chest, she had a small part of her that almost wished he had, too. Said part was immediately silenced by the drumming of her heart as she dared to look up at him, mismatched eyes narrowing in curiosity. Should she feel nervous that he was avoiding eye contact with her? Because she felt nervous about it. Definitely nervous.

“Oh.” 

_Good response, Minerva._

“I mean…if you would rather wait until another time, then we can-”

“No!”

“No?”

Minerva floundered, disdaining the way her cheeks began to burn. “I mean, no. We can…talk now. We can talk any time, really. But preferably now?”

“Preferably now,” Cullen confirmed, letting out a heavy breath. “Can we…I mean…if you’d like, or I mean…” His frustration became apparent, and Minerva squirmed in her state of absolute cluelessness on how to help him.

“Cullen…” 

Her voice and her tone seemed to be enough for him. His massive hand rubbed at his face and he let out a low grumble. “What I had been trying to say was I would very much like to insist that this be a conversation away from prying eyes and ears.” 

Minerva nodded slowly, letting herself peer at the people below from the corner of her left eye. Right. From the less than subtle looks and giggles and fingers pointing up at them, it was clear that they were already giving a kick start to the rumor mill down below. A knowing grin tugged at the corners of her lips, and she gave a curt nod. All the while, she could hardly hear anything except her own heart’s beating inside of her chest.

This conversation that Cullen wished to have could go so many directions, and Minerva wasn’t sure was the most likely route that it would take. Maybe he wanted to discuss that their relationship – which maybe she was imagining to begin with – was inappropriate? Or, perhaps it went the opposite way, and he wanted there to _be_ a relationship? 

How did she feel about any of that? She wasn’t sure. Well, she was sure she wasn’t sure, but part of her was definitely sure. Right. Thoughts needing to make sense now, please. 

Cullen briskly moved besides her, and she followed suit, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder towards the soldiers that were most likely watching their every move. As usual, he walked with purpose, with confident strides that made her almost have to jog to keep pace with him. Her only means of comfort as they swept through the Chantry was clutching her staff until her fingers grew numb and tired. Though nearly empty, the Chantry was still not entirely deserted, though those that stayed within were the Tranquil. Though that should have served as a relief to her, it didn’t. 

She found herself both wanting to be entirely alone with Cullen, and also not. And it was perplexing. 

It was only when the heavy door swung open that she snapped back to attention. Within sat the makeshift war room, with the map of Ferelden and Orlais sprawled across the long wooden table, markers haphazardly set all over the place from their previous planning. Within the room, however, they were not alone. Two guards stood vigilantly as ever within the entrance, immediately saluting to the pair without hesitation.

“Leave us,” the Commander growled, sweeping past them and waving them away with a brief gesture of his hand. “The Mage-Commander and I have things that we must discuss.”

“Truly? But the Herald closed the Breach, ser, there’s no…no…” The soldier swallowed as Cullen leveled his gaze on him.

“Leave. _Now._.” 

“Y-Yes, ser! R-Right away, ser!” 

Admittedly, the sight of two fully armed soldiers scrambling desperately over one another to try and get out of a door not entirely wide enough to fit both was comical in its own right. Minerva bit her cheek to hold back the laughter, and Cullen merely sighed and shook his head as he closed the door shut behind them. 

But now Minerva realized they were alone again, without any eyes or ears around them. It made her stomach tremble. In spite of her nerves begging her to keep the distraction at hand, she set aside her staff and allowed herself to step further into the room. The candles from earlier this morning had been replaced with full, fresh sticks of wax, burning brightly around the room. The glow of candlelight had never made her feel uneasy before this moment, but she was certain it was because of her company. And perhaps, just perhaps, uneasy wasn’t the right word for what she felt right now. 

Whatever it was, it only increased tenfold when she heard Cullen approaching from behind.

Minerva turned as delicately as she could on her heels, though it felt like every ounce of skill she had at maintaining her balance was suddenly gone. Her finely crafted robes, made with the intention of being what she wore in battle, felt heavy around her body, weighing her down and making it hard to move. She knew she could navigate perfectly fine in her custom-made mage armor, yet she struggled now. Minerva mentally soothed herself, giving herself permission to lean against the war table in an effort to steady herself. It was working. Barely. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table behind her, and she tried to focus on the way the wood dug into the small of her back instead of Cullen’s nearing footsteps.

Minerva dared to raise her gaze to his. She wasn’t sure how to read the expression that he wore, wasn’t sure where to even begin with deciphering it.

“Cullen…I…” She started, then took a breath. “What…what did you want to talk about?” The elf-blooded woman wasn’t so sure trying to prod the Commander into saying something sooner was a good idea, but if she hadn’t said anything at all, she feared she might have just thrown up on the floor. Perhaps it was better when she had no voice at all. 

“I have been meaning to discuss this with you for quite some time,” Cullen started, stopping his strides when he stood directly before her. Minerva continued to watch his expression, and when their eyes met, she found it impossible to look away. Around Cullen, things were in extremes – impossible or possible, too much or too little. It was slowly driving her insane. Yet he continued, his voice disrupting her thoughts, “Do you recall our sparring match many, many weeks ago?”

Minerva swallowed. She couldn’t even gather up an ounce of confidence needed to make a joke of her winning. “There have been many, but…I…think I know of which one you speak of…”

Cullen said nothing then, breaking eye contact with her to stare off to the side. “What we…almost did, before we were interrupted, it was…”

She tried to not jump to conclusions, but her chest hurt when he didn’t look at her. 

“Inappropriate?” The word passed her lips with difficulty, and the tone she had desperately tried to keep professional and calm was instead laced with disappointment and ache. Her mind raced. She should have really let him finish, but her mind was racing and all she could do now was pray to the Maker that she was wrong. Without realizing it, she had closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, as if making the world unknown to her would make the inevitable truth of what was to come less painful.

The trembling of her hand on the table as she clenched the table tighter and tighter halted abruptly when she felt Cullen’s large hand move over it. 

_What?_

Her eyes snapped open, bolting first from the hand over hers then back to his face. When had he gotten so close, so tantalizingly close? His opposite hand had settled upon the table, effectively boxing her in. The stance should have made alarms ring in her mind, but his proximity to her wasn’t threatening. Once again, like that night in the snow with their breaths mingling in a frozen dance, she felt safe. His touch did not ignite the vile memories of abuse that she had suffered at the hands of evil men. If anything, it soothed her, silenced her thoughts, made her go quiet.

“I was going to say it was really nice, actually,” he murmured, leaning his head down to settle his forehead against hers. “And infuriating that it was interrupted at all.”

Where there had been a throbbing in her head and ears a moment ago, there was only silence now. Minerva froze in place, gears in her mind taking forever to turn and catch up with the conversation that was happening. Desperately, her brain tried to decode the words that had just left Cullen’s lips. Had she just suddenly forgotten how to speak and understand the language they spoke? The words resonated with her deeply, and when the meaning of them finally sunk in, she felt emotion after emotion cross her face as she stared completely bewildered at Cullen.

Had he just…? Did he really...?

Oh, but he did.

“You…”

“Care for you? Yes.”

“Even though I’m a mage? You could care for a mage?”

Cullen’s expression softened, and he leaned back from her. The absence of the warmth from his body made her yearn to reach out and pull him back, but she resisted the urge. He brushed a hand through his hair, took a breath, and paused.

“I already do. Yes. And…and this…sounded much better in my head. I thought that I would have known what to say to you by now during a conversation like this, yet I’m at a loss.”

The words were enough to make her melt a little in place. “If it’s any consolation, y-you’re doing better than I would…or-or could…”

Cullen chuckled, but his expression fell somber once more, and he averted his gaze from her again. “We’ve duties to attend to while with the Inquisition. I have been telling myself that for quite some time now. We have mages and Templars and soldiers to command so that the Herald doesn’t have to. We may have won for the moment, but there is so much more going on in Ferelden and Orlais and all over for us to see to. There’s still a war happening even as we celebrate, but…”

“But?” Minerva prompted.

Cullen moved around the table, and without thinking, Minerva trailed behind to get closer. He absentmindedly plucked a marker from the table, inspected it, toyed with it. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Minerva bit her lip. In spite of the way she trembled, she reached out and touched his hands, made him lower the marker back to the table, leaning forward a bit so she could look into Cullen’s eyes, and he into hers. 

“I understand,” she started softly. “I find myself burning up inside when I’m around you. I care for you, too. A lot. Yet, I understand if…if our duties must come first.” She lowered her eyes back to the marker, to their hands touching one another. And then she began to pull her hands back, to step away when he said nothing for a moment.

But then Cullen’s hands had grabbed her wrists within his massive hands, and he pulled her right back, reeled her body against his. He froze for a moment, looked embarrassed at his sudden reaction to her movement. Minerva herself went stiff, but it lasted only a heartbeat before her hands settled on his arms. He made a move to pull away, but her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his sleeves, silently begging him not to go.

He gave a shake of his head, expression unreadable as he looked away. The best way she could describe the look was that it was thoughtful. About what? Had she done something wrong? It was like they were both fumbling around in the dark trying to look for their feelings.

“S-Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Cullen’s hands clasped her face, tilting her head back as his lips collided with hers, effectively silencing her. He leaned over her, pressed his body close to hers, so close that she once again hit the table with the small of her back. His aroma was overwhelming now, and the taste of his lips was reminiscent of honey and wine.

And then Cullen’s lips left hers, though his hands continued to hold her face in place, his forehead gently touching against hers. Minerva pulled a breath into her lungs, not realizing that she had forgotten to breath when their lips touched. They lingered like that a moment, just breathing, just listening to one another simply exist in the same close space as the other. Her hands settled loosely on his forearms, and she allowed her eyes to finally fall shut as she registered the bliss that took hold of her heart.

“When it comes down to it, we aren’t an ideal. We aren’t our jobs, though you may find that hard to believe coming from me. We aren’t explicitly our duty. We are a man and a woman, and I can only ignore the feelings I harbor for a woman for so long before I begin to feel...to feel sick. I care for you because you are you, Minerva.”

He loomed closer, and she felt their lips brush against one another again.

But then there was a blaring horn, one that pried them apart faster than shouts of abomination in the camp. Their expressions mirrored one another; they were bewildered but driven.

The warning of an approaching force made them forget - made them forget that they were a man and a woman, and it forced them to slip back into their roles as leaders in the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in business (sort of) with The Unsung. 
> 
> I'm still working on another Sebastian story, but until that happens - enjoy some much needed fluff before inevitable agony.


End file.
